


countdown

by purple01_prose



Series: blow us all away [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers: More than Meets the Eye, Transformers: Windblade
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Food, Gen, Humor, Infidelity, M/M, Misogyny, Parent-Child Relationship, Parental Issues, Past Abuse, Queer Themes, Romance, Slow Burn, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:49:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 93,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple01_prose/pseuds/purple01_prose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Windblade and Starscream pick up the pieces, and eventually, each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I have been laid low with food poisoning--WHICH I DO NOT RECOMMEND--and I've lacked the energy to post the first chapter. Seriously, y'all. So much sleeping.
> 
> But now I am better! So here we are.
> 
> I am unbelievably delicate about countdown. A lot of the themes I've been building on for a while, but this is when they really come to a head. Most of the themes presented are very personal for me, so I'll own right now that it is not an objective position shown. All of which is to say, this is not going to be easy for our leads. I'll warn for specific things beforehand--we're going to hit emotional manipulation, infidelity, introvert issues, trigger warnings, etc--but if there's something that you would have liked me to warn for, please let me know.
> 
> In this chapter, we have a lot of stress, alcohol consumption, some conflict, and a crap ton of anxiety. The first chapter takes place over the first three weeks of September.

**CHAPTER ONE: RECOVERY**

 

_Initiate countdown: 17 weeks down_

 

Chromia adjusted her shirt for the millionth time in the mirror. Her gun was where it belonged, unloaded and safety on in the holster at her belt, her hair was tied back in a severe bun, her side had finally stopped twinging the week before—the sign her physical therapist said meant she could go back to work—and all she had to do was cross over the threshold.

 

Windblade stopped in the hall. “You okay? Your boss said you didn’t have to come in for another day or two.”

 

“No, no, I want to go back, I need to get back into the field.” Chromia looked at her. “You ready to stop buying mint cookies?”

 

Windblade looked down at the box in her hands guiltily. “It’s Labor Day,” she protested, “I don’t have class until tomorrow.”

 

“So what, that’s your cut-off date? Once school starts, you’re over the grieving process?” Chromia snorted fondly. “I don’t think you were ready to break it off.”

 

“No,” Windblade admitted with sadness. “But it needed to be done.”

 

“If you say so.”

 

“I do.”

 

“All right, well, enjoy your cookies and your sadness and I’ll be back tonight.” Chromia held out an arm and Windblade slid in underneath it to give her a quick hug.

 

“Good luck.”

 

Chromia yanked on the end of Windblade’s braid gently. “It’s been two weeks.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I’m glad that you know.” Chromia let her go. “It’s ten in the morning, maybe don’t go on a cookie binge so early.”

 

“You have your bad habits, I have mine,” Windblade sniffed. “Bye.”

 

“Bye.”

 

Once Chromia left, Windblade left the cookies on the counter and wandered into Chromia and Nautica’s room. Nautica was still asleep—well, kind of—and Windblade laid down next to her.

 

And stared. Right. At. Her.

 

Within three minutes (a new record), Nautica unwound a hand from the blankets and patted it in the direction of Windblade’s face. “Stawppit.”

 

“Wake up.”

 

“Noooooooo.”

 

“We have to go buy textbooks.”

 

“Nooooooooooooooo.”

 

“Upppppppppp.”

 

“ _Noooooooooooooooooooooooo_.”

 

Windblade waited.

 

Nautica’s leg emerged from the blankets, and before Windblade could register even a squawk of protest, Nautica was wrapped around her like an octopus, and they were nose-to-nose. “No,” Nautica said seriously, before she dropped her forehead onto the curve of Windblade’s shoulder and fell back asleep.

 

Windblade pushed at Nautica’s arm ineffectively. “Wakeeeeeeee upppppppppp.”

 

In answer, Nautica blew a raspberry right onto Windblade’s neck, complete with slobber, and Windblade squawked. “Nautica!”

 

“Shurrup,” Nautica mumbled. “Lemme sleep. Gross morning person.”

 

“ _Fine_. At least let me get more comfortable.”

 

“Okaaaaaay.” Nautica relaxed her grip, and Windblade turned so that she was the little spoon, and Nautica buried her face in Windblade’s back.

 

Windblade ran over her booklist in her mind. She needed two books for International Law, one for Global Terrorism—she could take it instead of Global Conflict—four books for Politics of Developing Areas, and she had a research period that she would spend in the International Studies department. International Law and Global Terrorism were on Mondays and Wednesdays, Politics of Developing Areas were Tuesday/Thursday mornings, and her research period was Thursday afternoons. It was a good schedule, with enough time to continue to work for Optimus and to do her homework, but she suspected all of those classes would kick her ass toward the end of the semester.

 

Hell, it wasn’t even a suspicion. She _knew_ they were going to kick her ass.

 

“You’re gonna worry about this until we actually go, aren’t you,” Nautica sighed.

 

“Just a little.”

 

“ _Fine_ , I will get up.”

 

“Thank you,” Windblade chirped.

 

Nautica let go and rolled over, and Windblade sat up. As Nautica got to her feet and grumbled about rude morning people, Windblade watched her get dressed. “I’m nervous about class starting tomorrow,” she blurted. “I mean, what happens if I run into him?”

 

“Then you run into him. What’s the worst that can happen?”

 

Windblade gave her a Look. “We have a very public screaming match?”

 

“So that’s the worst case scenario. Anything else would be a step up, right?” Nautica stepped into cargos and rooted for a shirt. “What if you just ignored each other?”

 

“I don’t—I’m not--.”

 

“Okay, girl, I am going to say this as your best friend that possesses asskicking privileges. You were overly hasty in breaking up with him. Yes, you had a legitimate reason, no one’s taking that away from you, but you know what _really_ made the decision for you and it’s not your sense of safety. Now you miss him and grieve the relationship, which, you should, but you have been moping around for two weeks. Two weeks, Windy. So you need to put on your big girl pants and either go and talk to him like an adult, or decide to avoid him for the rest of your college career. Your choice, but when you finish that box of mint cookies, we’re not buying you anymore.” Nautica fluffed her hair out from her shirt collar. “Are you ready to go?”

 

“I just need shoes,” Windblade looked dejected, and Nautica sat down on the bed next to her.

 

“You have the right to be sad and to miss what you lost, you know. That was the first actual dating relationship you’d had since your senior year of high school. But--,” she squeezed Windblade’s ankle, “it’s time to move on.”

 

“I’ll be busy soon enough,” Windblade said with a watery smile. “I’ll manage.”

 

“Yeah, you will.” Nautica pushed at her foot. “Shoes, bag. We’re going to have to fight to get our books and I for one am _not_ looking forward to it.”

 

“Yeah. I’ll go do that.” Windblade wrapped an arm around Nautica’s shoulders and squeezed. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Nothing to apologize for. Go on. We’ve got things to do.”

 

September in South Carolina was the worst. It was the only time Nautica actually _wanted_ a car; the heat reflected off the road and made it feel hotter than the weather app on her phone said it was. She was in a sleeveless shirt and cargo shorts, and she was already a sweaty mess. Windblade, on the other hand, was wearing a swishy skirt that ended at her knees, flats, and loose white blouse with her hair tied up in a braid and looked perfectly comfortable.

 

Admittedly, Caminus was in swamp-land, and the Church of Solus was built into the hill of Caminus. It could get even muggier than what they were suffering through, but damn, Windblade didn’t have to rub it in.

 

Windblade glanced at her. “You okay?”

 

Nautica’s face was trickling sweat. “Fine.”

 

“We can get some wa--.”

 

“FINE.”

 

“Okay, okay.”

 

The bookstore was bustling, and Windblade flinched slightly at the crowds before fishing out her book list. “I’ll meet you back in the front?” she asked Nautica, who was eyeing the Engineering side of the bookstore with deadly intent.

 

“Good plan!”

 

They went their separate ways—Nautica cheerfully employed her elbows while Windblade ducked and wove around clumps of people—and the poli-sci area was a quick breath of peace. She consulted her list and found Global Terrorism and Politics of Developing Areas fairly easily; they were at eye level, and there were plenty of texts left.

 

It was International Law that was tricky. She needed to get the Akehurst book and a book compiled of various cases, and as she checked the course listing, she saw that the books were on the top shelf. The thicker textbook—the case book—was stacked on top of the other but it was at the very edge of the bookshelf, so with some careful, er, jumping, she managed to bring one down without hitting herself in the head.

 

The Akehurst book, on the other hand, didn’t at first appear to be there, and she held in a sigh. It meant that the last person to grab had shoved the rest of the books away from the edge, and she just wasn’t tall enough. She looked around for a step stool, but the store was crowded and all of the associates were busy helping other people. She sighed for real and examined the bookshelves. They were metal, and the one facing her was backed against one, so her weight shouldn’t be enough to tip it over.

 

She mapped out where her feet needed to go, and just as she started to move, someone stepped into her peripheral vision and grabbed the book from the top shelf. “You looked like you were about--.”

 

Starscream stopped in the middle of his sentence, and they stared at each other. The background noise of the busy bookstore faded away, and her heartbeat rushed in her ears.

 

He didn’t—she wanted to say he looked like shit, but he looked like he usually did. The only indication of stress was faint lines around his eyes. It had been two weeks since they had seen each other, but in that moment it felt like years.

 

He broke the stare first and gruffly offered her the book. She took it, hyperaware of how her pinky finger pressed against his index finger for half a second, and then he was walking around her and pushing through the crowd. Whatever books he had come to pick up, he clearly decided that he didn’t need in that exact moment.

 

She turned to watch him go, and as he exited, Nautica stopped in the middle of the store. She saw Windblade staring and followed her gaze, and when she saw Starscream, her mouth softened.

 

Windblade clutched her books to her chest, and Nautica sighed and gestured at her. They bought their books—Windblade had a significant discount thanks to being a university employee and she managed to get the same for Nautica—and then Nautica led Windblade to the ice cream stand not too far from the bookstore. “Chocolate for me, and mint chocolate chip for her.”

 

\--

 

“Megatron!”

 

“Starscream,” Megatron greeted as he checked his office for any stray papers. “Your voice, as always, is a delight to the ear.”

 

Starscream ignored that. “Windblade’s in your International Law class?!”

 

“Yes,” Megatron examined a folder. Old student essays? No, it was something else. He put it aside. “She was a late registrant. I find myself flattered; she must have been watching the class carefully online, because I had a drop two days ago and she immediately took that spot.”

 

“You didn’t _tell_ me?”

 

“I haven’t seen you in two days,” Megatron pointed out. “You’ve been moving back into Nemesis.”

 

“I have email and text messaging!”

 

“Right. ‘Hello, Starscream, Megatron here, just wanted to let you know that your ex that you are still deeply in love with has joined one of my classes. Toodles!’ That would have worked well.”

 

Starscream’s scowl deepened. “She’s still--.”

 

“What? Important? Obviously. Aggravating? Certainly. Someone you need to get over?” Megatron leaned forward. “ _Absolutely_.”

 

“I could have helped!”

 

“And that would have changed matters _how_?”

 

“It might’ve--.”

 

“Fixed things? That’s what your _words_ are for, Starscream.”

 

“I am--.”

 

“Fairly persuasive?” Megatron huffed a laugh. “To a point. Bribery won’t help.”

 

“It can at least _open_ the conversation.”

 

“Why do you even want to restart the relationship anyway? You didn’t put this much effort into your relationship with Skyfire.”

 

Starscream exhaled. “As much as I hate to admit, she had a point. I—messed up.”

 

“Did it hurt to admit that?”

 

Starscream set his jaw. “You could have _told_ me.”

 

“Maybe I could’ve,” Megatron agreed as he finally found what he was looking for. “But why, when your torture is so entertaining to watch?”

 

“I really fucking hate you.”

 

“No, you don’t.”

 

\--

 

_16 Weeks Down_

 

Windblade checked her phone anxiously. She had slept in that morning, and she had Tarn’s class, and he used the Scary Voice if you were late, and he seemed to expect that because They Were All TAs Together that she would be even better than her peers.

 

Quite frankly, she felt like she was drowning and it was only a week into the semester.

 

The line inched forward, and as she glanced around the campus coffee house, she saw Starscream in the corner. He was absorbed in what was on his laptop, and he had a notebook off to the side. His eyes tracked whatever he was reading almost too fast for her to see—she had asked him once if he actually read what he was looking at or only skimmed it, and he’d immediately reeled off all the pertinent information of the article they had been reading. She still didn’t know how he did that, though in hindsight it explained a _lot_.

 

He had a coffee cup at his table, but the light was hitting it in the right way—he hated cup sleeves, he thought that his cups shouldn’t have clothes—that she could see it was empty. An idea struck her, and she recoiled from it at first. What if he left before she could do it? Then she would left with a cup of coffee that she wouldn’t drink. The coffee at the campus coffeehouse was overpriced; was she willing to throw away four dollars on an Americano?

 

Moreover, what if he looked at her with that look that...she wasn’t sure she could take being looked at like sludge when she was already vibrating on a string. That might actually make her cry, and she couldn’t handle crying.

 

When she was ready to order, he was still in the corner, and he hadn’t noticed her. That settled it, and when the cashier beamed at her and said, “Hi, Windblade, what do you need?”

 

It was easy to say, “One tall Chai and a tall Americano, please.”

 

“’Course!”

 

Her heart was doing the fluttery thing and her stomach was tying itself into knots, but she steeled herself and went over to the corner. He looked up as she approached, and there was a flash of excitement in his eyes before his face smoothed out. She carefully slid the coffee onto the table, and he looked at it before back up at her.

 

Her heart ached. “It looked like your coffee cup was empty,” she fumbled, tightening her grip on her chai. She had twenty minutes to get to Tarn’s class, and it would be at least ten to get to the classroom.

 

He picked it up and his eyebrows jerked toward his hairline. “You’re right. Thanks.”

 

She badly wanted to cup his cheek, but she contented herself with the heat coming through the cup sleeve. “You’re welcome.”

 

He looked at the other chair. “You could—um—join me. There’s plenty of room.”

 

“I have to go,” she demurred, “I have class. But, uh, maybe next time.”

 

The small smile he gave her made her think his heart was squeezing as badly as hers’ was. “Yeah, I’ll—hold you to that. What’s the class?”

 

“Global Terrorism, and if I’m late, Tarn’ll be awful. He’s actually kind of terrifying.”

 

“Not _that_ terrifying,” he contradicted, and the pressure on her heart loosened.

 

“Maybe not to _you_ ,” she forced a giggle. “But not all of us are Megatron’s foster-son.”

 

He sipped his coffee and eyed her. “Maybe so. Windblade--.”

 

“I’ll see you around,” she said quietly. She didn’t want to go—if anything, it told her that maybe he wasn’t as mad as he appeared to be last week—but she couldn’t handle a longer conversation. She hadn’t prepared adequately for it yet.

 

Still, it gave her enough strength to get through Tarn’s class and into Megatron’s, and maybe that was all she needed.

 

\--

 

Skyfire nudged Starscream. “JSTOR isn’t something we usually use.”

 

Starscream didn’t look up from the screen, but he tapped his notepad with a little more frustration than necessary. “I’m doing a favor.”

 

“What are you getting in return?” Skyfire sat down on the chair on the other side of the console, but Starscream was still absorbed in his work.

 

“Credit,” he clicked on an article and scanned through the abstract. “Tarn’s been taken to task by Megatron over his insistence that his students find a terrorist group to study within two weeks of the semester and then supply a packet of articles _about_ that group that they will use as a resource for the rest of the semester. It’s too much work, especially when some of the groups Tarn namedrops don’t have as much of a paper trail. I found out what group Windblade submitted for what she wants to study, so I’m finding articles about how terrorism works to help her out.”

 

“Did she ask you to do that?”

 

“No, and she’s not obligated to use them, but it’ll help her out and annoy Tarn, which are the kind of two birds I like to kill with one stone.”

 

Skyfire frowned. “Do you even have time for this?”

 

“I’ve got three articles already, I just need two more, and this is not going to be one of them.” He exited out of the document and went to the next one. “She’s tearing her hair out over this. I’ve seen her in the library. She’s doing some terrorist group that’s in Southeast Asia—I know the name but I can’t remember it right now—and knowing her, she’s going to talk about how it relates to the history of colonialism and imperialism, which will work with how Tarn approaches things. The articles aren’t about the terrorist group, it’s about the methods.”

 

“Aren’t you a little concerned that that will be crossing a line?”

 

“No. Well. If I am, I’m sure she’ll tell me.” Starscream propped his chin on his hand and looked at Skyfire. “But I think she’ll find this helpful, and maybe--.” He shrugged and returned his gaze to JSTOR. “Whatever.”

 

Skyfire leaned back. “You think she’ll take this packet of articles and immediately jump into your arms?”

 

Starscream didn’t flush often, but his skin darkened. “Probably not.”

 

“Only probably?”

 

“There’s more steps to take than that.” Starscream looked over at him. “Why are you here, anyway? Usually you go home by now.”

 

“Percy’s working on something, and he jumps every time I touch him. He hasn’t been doing that and I just—I feel like I make him impatient with my presence.” Skyfire sighed. “I’m making something out of shadows, but it still feels like he’s unhappy with me. So I’m avoiding home.”

 

Starscream reached out and squeezed Skyfire’s wrist. “I still have a couch.”

 

“I’m too tall for it.” Skyfire covered Starscream’s hand with his. “I don’t think it’s to that point.”

 

“Keep me updated. It’s not like my couch is going anywhere.”

 

Skyfire’s smile was the one that had captured Starscream’s attention in the first place, and his heart fluttered. “I’ll do that.”

 

\--

 

Windblade frowned at her homework. Writing up legal briefs were breaking her brain, a little, and she struggled to focus on the opinion given. She didn’t fully understand yet how international law didn’t rely on precedent, but still cited previous cases in their reasoning for decisions given.

 

Optimus stopped by her desk after he’d refilled his coffee. “Your face could freeze that way.”

 

“It might prove nominally more intimidating than I usually am,” she grumbled, looking up at him. “You have your law degree in international law, right?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Can you tell me why international cases aren’t based on precedent but legal reasoning still needs to be provided?”

 

“Oh, that’s easy.” He perched on the edge of the desk. “Decisions are never given willy-nilly, as much as it appears such sometimes.” He flashed a smile at her and she returned the favor. She knew they were both thinking of _Citizens United_. “The reasoning is given so that the decision is seen as sound. Which one is this week’s?”

 

“ _Mortensen v. Peters_. The one about the trawling in Scotland--?”

 

“Ah yes. So the reasoning was given in that case because it would directly affect municipal law, and it was about fishing law and where a country’s territory extends into territorial waters. They used inter fauces terrae--.”

 

“Which basically means that when water is landlocked, in something like a fjord or firth, like what’s being discussed in this case.”

 

He nodded. “That the entirety of it is therefore subject to international law, because of it being land-locked means that no part of it is ever technically international waters. You’re right in that international law is not based on precedent, and sometimes similar cases will pop up and the court will decide differently, but having a reference as a guide for how to treat the case is important, and that influences how the decision is made.”

 

She blew a piece of hair out of her face. “I think it’s still annoying.”

 

“I did too, when I took my first international law course,” he admitted. “Of course, once it clicked for me, I fell in love with the whole discipline. International law can be twisty and unnecessarily complicated, but there are reasons for how it’s made. I take it you’re at where international and municipal law intersect?”

 

“Yeah.” She closed her pen. “I mean, yes, okay it’s fascinating, and I kind of enjoyed maritime law because territorial waters are so weird, but I wish there was more of, I don’t know, international health law? If that’s even a thing? Like, think about Doctors Without Borders. A British medical license doesn’t necessarily mean you can practice medicine in France, right? But would that fall under health law or, you know, bureaucracy?”

 

“There were standards created for that kind of thing,” Optimus said, swirling his coffee in his cup. “The CDC’s ‘Disease Cowboys’ made sure of that. You should look up Flatline’s work. He’s done a great deal to bridge that kind of gap, if it’s something you’re interested in.”

 

“Maybe after this semester, when I have some time.” She uncapped her pen and jotted his name down. “It sounds fascinating, in any case.”

 

“It is, it is.” Optimus stood up. “Does that answer your questions?”

 

“For now, anyway. If I have any more, I’ll come to you.”

 

“You can go to Megatron, you know. He wouldn’t mind hearing you.”

 

“I’m not against that, sir, but--,” her cheeks flared. “I haven’t learned his TA schedule for the fall yet, and if I go in while Tarn’s there, we get sidetracked discussing his class and then I forget what I’m coming to ask Megatron about and it’s actually kind of embarrassing.”

 

Optimus’ eyes crinkled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

“It’s no problem.” Optimus hesitated at the entrance to his office. “Windblade, are you--?”

 

She looked up at him. “What?”

 

“Are you doing all right?”

 

She blinked at him. “I’m fine.”

 

“You seem much more tired than you have been.”

 

She was touched by his concern. “I’m just being run ragged. I’m trying desperately to assemble that packet for Tarn’s class while staying on top of everything else, and it’s a little overwhelming right now.”

 

Optimus scowled. “He needs to stop doing that. It’s not a graduate course.”

 

“Well, it technically is...”

 

“He has a different syllabus for the graduate students, I can assure you.” Optimus shook his head. “If you need anything, please let me know.”

 

“You’ve already done so much,” Windblade reminded him. “Far more than you’ve needed to. There’s no need to go out of your way further.”

 

“You’re worth the investment,” Optimus countered, “but—very well. Just know that it’s all right to ask me.”

 

She smiled. “Thank you, Optimus.”

 

\--

 

_15 Weeks Down_

 

He had never hated a door more.

 

The door to the International Relations department was that weird Plexiglas that haunted all college campuses, so that while it made it easy to walk past and see Windblade at her desk (her back was always to the door, something that made him despair a little), it made it a lot harder to sneak up on her appropriately, and he was uncomfortably anxious.

 

He was never anxious. What the hell had she done to him?

 

He kept an eye out for professors and students as he stared at her through the door. She was hunched over the table, and she was probably making notes. Her back kept him from seeing exactly what was going, but her shoulder twitched regularly. She was probably writing, and if she was writing, it meant she was frowning slightly and her eyes would be narrowed and—

 

Starscream shuddered. He had never been sentimental, and the desire to grab her up and never let her go was rooted in nothing but sentimentality. Besides, at some point she would start to complain, and that would ruin it.

 

“Contrary to popular belief, you cannot actually set the door on fire if you stare at it long enough,” Starscream jumped when Optimus came around the corner. “It’s Plexiglas,” the professor continued, stopping next to him to see what he was staring at, “it will just melt sadly.”

 

“M’not trying to set the door on fire, though honestly, it would be a better sell for your major than the current. Welcome to Hell, our door is on fire and everything.”

 

Optimus frowned at Windblade through the door. “Stop stalking my TA.”

 

“I’m not,” Starscream squawked.

 

“Then the reason why you’re standing out here, staring at her is...?”

 

“I have something for her.”

 

“I bet you do.”

 

Starscream stared at Optimus. “I—that’s not—okay. _Not_ that, actually.”

 

There wasn’t a change to Optimus’ facial expression, but Starscream had the sudden suspicion that Optimus was _amused_. Damn him. “She’s leaving in half an hour to go to her research period,” Optimus patted him on the shoulder. “If you wish to actually accomplish something today, I would do it quickly.”

 

Starscream scowled at him. “Is that permission?”

 

The flare of amusement was gone, and Optimus was looming over him. They were roughly the same height, but Optimus’ mouth was set and his back was entirely straight. “I will not have you hurting her again.”

 

Starscream flexed his hands into fists. “What about her hurting _me_?”

 

“You have others to be your champion. I am hers.”

 

“Does _she_ know that?”

 

Optimus’ lips thinned. “Either go about your business, or go away.”

 

“Do you think you could give us the room?” Starscream’s lips lifted sardonically. “She’s shy, you see.”

 

Optimus looked as though he’d like to hit him—which was what Starscream was going for—but then he growled. “You’re in luck, I have a class. Excuse me.”

 

Starscream smirked at him as Optimus went on his way, but then he turned back to glaring at the door. Windblade rested her forehead on her textbook, and his heart squeezed for her. She seemed so _tired_ , and he wasn’t sure why that was. Wouldn’t Nautica—

 

He steeled his courage and opened the door soundlessly. She didn’t pick up her head, and he unfolded the top of his bag and rooted around until he found the packet of articles. In the middle, he had sandwiched his notes from the first half of the semester of International Law, but he intended it to be a surprise. Windblade’s head picked up at the rustle of paper, and as he came into her peripheral vision, she whipped around to look at him. Her lips parted—her red lipstick made them look so soft—but before she could say anything, he dropped the packet in front of her.

 

Her eyes left his reluctantly as she picked up the packet. Her lips pursed as she read the title of the first article, and he could see her breath quicken as she read the abstract. She looked up at him, and dear god her eyes. He had missed how expressive her eyes were. “This is—you—.”

 

“A favor,” he said, “because it will piss Tarn off.”

 

For a moment, she was disappointed, but then she found a smile. “There are easier ways.”

 

He rested a hand on the table, and she gazed up at him. She never wore mascara, and he appreciated her short lashes. “It should help.”

 

She flipped through the packet. “Yes,” she murmured, “it should.” She stopped at the notebook paper, and her eyes widened when she realized what it was. “Starscream—you didn’t have to--.”

 

He leaned on the hand on the table. “I did.” Her lips were a perfect moue, and he badly wanted to kiss her. They weren’t touching, but he saw her hand twitch and realized she wanted to touch him as badly as he wanted her to. What were they doing there? Why couldn’t they just--?

 

“What do you want?” she whispered.

 

Carefully, so that she would see it coming, he laid his other hand on her cheek and rubbed the pad of his thumb against her cheekbone. Her eyelids fluttered, and he felt her lean into his hand. “I wanted—I want to--.”

 

“Yes?” Her eyes looked like liquid sapphire, and he was drowning in them.

 

Her phone alarm went off, and it startled the both of them. He collected himself, and he took a step back as she reached for her phone. “I have to go,” her expression was anguished. “But—it was good to see you. And...thank you, so much, for this. It will help.”

 

His fingertips were tingling, and he shoved his hands in his pockets to prolong the feeling. “I know.”

 

“Would you like to--?”

 

“I have plans,” he told her, only lying a little. “But hey, there’s always next time.”

 

She smiled faintly at the reference to their earlier conversation. “I might hold you to that.”

 

“Please do.” They stared at each other for a few moments more, and then he broke their shared gaze. “I need to go.”

 

“I’ll see you,” she said, her voice soft, and he left the International Relations department. That had been satisfying—but it wasn’t, at the same time.

 

He needed to talk to Skyfire.

 

\--

 

“I’ve got booze,” Windblade announced as Percy let her in. “Apple brandy, I thought that would work.”

 

“I’ve got soda water and ice, we can do it with that.”

 

“Sounds good.” Windblade unpacked the bottle and put her bag down on the counter. “Nibbles, too?”

 

“I have sandwiches.”

 

“Even better.” Windblade glanced at him. “What’s up?”

 

“Nothing,” Percy opened the fridge and found the tray of sandwiches.

 

“Percy, I know that voice.”

 

“Why is it that women assume everything needs to be talked out?” he complained, passing along the tray to her. She held onto it instead of taking the tray out to the small balcony and glared at him. He sighed and closed the door.

 

“Maybe—we’ll ignore the inherent misogyny of that statement for now—it helps to talk things out because then you can figure out where you are. If we’re going to talk gender generalizations, maybe guys have more issues because you lock it all up in your chest until it explodes. Maybe _that’s_ why men have more issues with violence than women do.” She tilted her head. “See, I can be gender essentialist too.”

 

He sighed again. “I apologize. Yes, something is wrong, and I’m not certain how to put it into words.”

 

“And that’s why you talk it with a woman,” she still hadn’t forgive him yet, “because we’re _very_ good at that.”

 

“I yield, I yield. Bring the sandwiches, I have the booze and the glasses.”

 

Windblade followed after him onto the tiny balcony, where she rested the tray of sandwiches on the small table. There was just enough room with the tray to put the bottle of apple brandy on the table also, and after they sat down he passed her a glass. She filled up her glass and passed the bottle back. “Starscream came to see me yesterday,” she said abruptly. “And now I’m even more confused than I was. So I think we’re in similar places.”

 

“I find Skyfire’s presence to be...irritating, and I don’t want to listen to him talk anymore. It started after the semester began, and I can’t put my finger on what caused it.”

 

“Maybe you need some distance,” she offered. “Just for a little bit. Sometimes—you’ve been in my house—it gets too close with everybody.”

 

“I don’t consider myself an especially violent person,” Percy said quietly, “but I’m finding it hard not to break a glass whenever he asks me something. The little things that didn’t use to irritate me make me enraged, now.”

 

“Answer me a question?” Windblade sipped from her glass, and he nodded. “Have you ever lived with anyone? That you cared about?”

 

“No,” he admitted. “I didn’t even have a roommate my first year.”

 

“You’re adjusting. It’s aggravating and annoying, and yes, you’ll spend some time wondering why you’re so angry with him out of nowhere, but it helps to _talk_. I know, that girly thing.”

 

“I _am_ sorry, stop beating me now that I’m down,” he grumbled.

 

She topped off his glass. “Fine. The only way roommates of any kind work out is that you sit down and have the conversations you hate. You want to keep dating Skyfire? Have that talk. Besides, don’t do the asshole thing of making him look for a sublease after the semester has started.”

 

“Fine. Starscream came to visit you?”

 

“And he brought gifts, too.” Windblade took a sandwich. “I’ve been struggling with that one assignment of Tarn’s, and he somehow found out which group I’ve decided to study--.”

 

“He does like to ignore boundaries that way,” Percy said wryly, but she ignored him.

 

“And so he found some articles to help me out. Not anything on the organization, but on terrorism tactics and other things, and he also gave me his notes from the first half of his semester of International Law.”

 

Percy sat back. He didn’t think Windblade was aware of the tiny smile she was wearing. “That’s...interesting.”

 

“I’m very confused,” she confessed, swirling her drink. “Our previous interactions could have implied that he— _we_ —were interested in being friends, but it would take some reaching to bring it there. But that, something that took him out of his way, that takes effort. So I’m...confused.”

 

“I thought you said you broke it off with him because he was unsafe.”

 

“And he was, and...is, I guess. But that feeling you’re having about Skyfire right now? I have that whenever someone gets too close to me romantically. I start looking for problems, things that justify me breaking it off, because I’m not sure I can handle someone loving me.”

 

“You need the booze more than I do,” he said frankly, and he picked up the bottle to fill up her glass. “Why is that?” She cut her eyes toward him, and he shrugged, “I’m talking like you do. Go with it, blame the booze.”

 

She snorted. “Everyone who knows about that has their theories,” she stared down at the amber liquid and she poked an ice cube. “Nautica thinks it’s my mom’s fault.”

 

“Is she right?”

 

“Maybe. I never really saw the point in investigating why my stomach tightens over time and my hands shake the longer someone loves me. It’s a big enough problem on its own, let alone turning it into something my mommy did to me because she couldn’t handle that I didn’t have the career aspirations she did.”

 

“Skyfire likes to do that too,” Percy reflected, “find the reasons behind someone’s behavior. I’ve heard him going on about Starscream a few times, and I always wondered why he bothered. Starscream knows why he does what he does, but he doesn’t feel the need to—psychoanalyze himself, so Skyfire shouldn’t do that either.”

 

“Are you jealous of him?”

 

Percy caught his breath. “Who, Skyfire?”

 

“No, Starscream,” Windblade finished up her glass and put it on the railing. “Are you jealous of him?”

 

Percy drained his glass. “Not...much. A little. He and Skyfire have gone back such a long way, and they can communicate so well, and I know that Starscream isn’t in love with him anymore and that Skyfire can be quick to jump the gun, but they’re both far more impulsive than they let on, and sometimes—I’m afraid.”

 

Windblade offered to fill up his glass again, but he refused with a shake of his head. “Are you jealous of Skyfire?” he inquired.

 

She was already shaking her head. “No. He and Starscream had—have, I guess—a different relationship than Starscream and me do.”

 

“Starscream has a type,” Percy said morosely as he picked up a sandwich. “You and Skyfire both. He likes anyone who will fight with him.”

 

“Then why isn’t he in love with you?” Windblade was teasing, he knew, but he already had an answer.

 

“Because he’s in love with _you_ , and Starscream doesn’t share his affections quite as easily.”

 

Windblade breathed out sharply. “You—You’re sure?”

 

“Skyfire’s certain, and I’m inclined to take that as fact.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Percy reached out to squeeze her wrist. “Does that clear up your confusion?”

 

She sighed. “Not as well as I would like.”

 

\--

 

Skyfire rubbed his eyes tiredly as he locked the apartment door. The bedroom light was on, so Percy was still up, but he needed to put his bag down in the living room so he would find it in the morning.

 

He stopped in the hallway at the sight of Windblade asleep on the sofa. Since when...? He checked his phone, but there was no message from Percy warning she was present. He laid his bag down and went into the bedroom, and as Percy looked up from his tablet, Skyfire closed the door. “What the hell is she doing here?”

 

Percy’s eyebrows went up. “Hello, Skyfire, did you have a good day?”

 

“It was productive. Why is she here?”

 

“My day was all right, I finally managed to nail down that formula and then my dear friend came over for dinner and drinks. We had a good time, but had a little too much to drink and I didn’t feel comfortable sending her home on her bike.”

 

“You could’ve called her a cab.”

 

“We have a perfectly serviceable couch, and she’ll be gone by morning.” Percy’s voice was bland, but his eyes had narrowed slightly.

 

Skyfire wasn’t doing much better. “You should’ve told me.”

 

“Like you tell _me_ all the times you bring Starscream over? I thought I would return the favor for once.”

 

“He doesn’t stay over.”

 

“Indeed,” Percy agreed, and Skyfire tensed, “but you know what he _does_ do? Talk very loud. For _hours_. It is impossible to get work done, but I don’t say anything because he’s your best friend and it’s not like _she’s_ getting in the way.”

 

“We both live here!”

 

Percy put his tablet down. “What is your true issue with her? Would it bother you so much if it was Wheeljack?”

 

“Of course not!”

 

“Then what is your problem with her?” Percy demanded, and if Skyfire hadn’t been paying such attention, he wouldn’t have heard the slight quiver in Percy’s voice. “Is it because she’s the object of your best friend’s affections? Are you still not over--?”

 

“No! God, no. I’m over him.”

 

“Then why is it that our relationship circles around him like he’s the sun our planet orbits?” Percy clenched his hands on the bedspread, but the quaver in his voice was more pronounced. “Windblade is unobjectionable on every count except for who she’s had between her legs. She’s very similar to you—you are both reserved, you both have wry senses of humor, and you both snark and manage Starscream with the ease of tiger handlers. So all I can think of is that you hate she’s had him when you--.”

 

“You’re going to stop, right there,” Skyfire felt so cold. “We’re not having this discussion, not while she’s in our house.”

 

“What the hell did she _do_ to you?”

 

“Percy--.”

 

“I have said nothing as your antagonism toward her has grown, despite the fact that you allow Starscream to ramble on about his feelings for her at length in this house. She has been nothing but polite to you, and I fail to see--.”

 

“Perceptor--.”

 

“I will not remain silent! I deserve to know!”

 

“ _Perceptor_.” Skyfire had never felt too large for their bedroom before. “While she is here, we are not talking about this.” He thought about texting Starscream—he would still be up—and seeing if that couch was still available, but he didn’t want to give Windblade the satisfaction.

 

“ _Are_ you in love with him?”

 

“No! I’m not. I never was.”

 

Surprisingly, Percy only looked more anguished. “Then why do you clutch onto him so hard?”

 

“He’s my best friend, I know you’re not close to many people but even _you_ should be able to understand that.”

 

Percy flinched, and Skyfire’s anger turned to shame. “Percy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

 

“It might be one of the truest things you’ve said all night,” Percy’s voice was stiff, “how can I begrudge you that?”

 

“Percy--.”

 

“No, you’re correct, I have a limited history with best friends since I tend to intimidate most people. Thank you for correcting me.”

 

Skyfire’s stomach tightened. “I’m--.”

 

“No, really. Where would I be without you?”

 

“It’s not anything about her, specifically. Well, kind of.” Skyfire’s shoulders slumped. “I hate seeing that some straight girl broke his heart and that she has him on a string and she could just...jerk him around at will. The fact that she hasn’t isn’t--.”

 

Percy interrupted him with a mirthless laugh. “I’m sorry, your issue is that you think she’s _straight?_ Oh Skyfire. And here I thought you taught sensitivity training with Campus Pride. She’s _not_ straight.”

 

“That’s not the real--.”

 

“You hate that you didn’t pick her for him,” Percy said with dawning understanding—and bitterness. “You hate that he found her without your consent, and you hate that she sees right through you. I was wrong—you’re just as petty as he is, but you’re so _nice_ that I missed it.”

 

“Percy.”

 

“Shut up,” Percy snapped. “You like to psychoanalyze everyone around you, you should have a taste of it for a change.” He folded his hands over his lap. “I think you should go.”

 

“Is this the end of this, then?” Skyfire’s voice curdled.

 

Percy sighed. “No. But I think it’s too close in here tonight. We’ve both said things we’re not prepared to take back yet.”

 

Skyfire pulled open the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

 

“See you.”

 

Amazingly, Windblade hadn’t stirred, and he felt a stab of resentment at her. If she was why his stable relationship with Percy ended...

 

Well, he admitted to himself, it would mean his relationship hadn’t been as stable as he’d thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every so often, I read something and it's like YES YES PERFECT I UNDERSTAND. Mortensen v. Peters is a case of where maritime law went up against municipal law, and maritime law ended up upholding municipal law. Scotland--and by extension, England--were like YO OTTER TRAWLING IS BAD. Otter trawling is fishing, only it's fishing by dragging nets along the bottom of the lake/firth/whatever, and as you can imagine, it does REALLY BAD THINGS to the local ecology of whatever water system it is. So the UK went NO MORE OTTER TRAWLING.
> 
> Where issues come in were, of course, how territorial waters are defined. At the time of MvP, it was three miles out from the shore, but what happens when you have a river that's over 6 miles wide? WELL, this fishing boat thought the same thing, and the boat was registered in the Netherlands (so the UK didn't technically have territory-specific jurisdiction over the boat), and so it went up this firth (think fjord--landlocked water area that feeds into the ocean) that was about 13 miles across, and it merrily started otter trawling in the middle of the firth, and the UK fishing authorities went NO NO STOP THAT, and the fishing boat went NOT REGISTERED TO THE UK and IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FIRTH, and the UK went HMMM. So the case went up, and the decision came down that a) territorial waters needed to be extended and b) it didn't matter how wide the landlocked water sources were; if they were landlocked, there were no international waters. International law is tricky like that, because there's one cardinal rule of international law (that typically gets ignored), and that is: YOU DO NOT INFRINGE ON ANOTHER STATE'S SOVREIGNTY. So maneuvering around that is fun! And I have fun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos. It does mean a lot to me. I love to hear about your responses to the chapters and such, it really makes my day.
> 
> This chapter deals with discussing trigger warnings, as well as emotional manipulation and infidelity. More on that in a bit.
> 
> Trigger warnings are a very personal subject for me. I've twice run afoul of professors who chose not to warn for triggering content, and I was very loud in my response to that. The first failed to warn for rape, dismemberment, and cannibalism in _Titus Andronicus_ , none of which I deal especially well with, and the second warned that we would be watching some explicit material but failed to elucidate on what that explicit material was, because 'spoilers'. Spoiler alert, it was a clip of a man recounting his role as a participant in a graphic group assault. I was _furious_ and triggered, and I absolutely hate it when people refuse to understand why triggers are necessary. So that's my bias. If you don't believe in triggers, that's fine, but I have my reasons for needing them.
> 
> As for the emotional manipulation and infidelity, there is a strong trigger warning for unsafe BDSM practices, as well as some dubious consent. One party believes they know what's going on and have consented, but the other has ulterior motives that the first party is unaware of.

**CHAPTER TWO: CHOICES**

_14 Weeks Down_

 

Windblade leaned against Nautica. “I’m so tired,” she mumbled. “And Tarn doesn’t warn for whatever videos he’s showing. I had to leave class today.”

 

“Have you talked to him about it?”

 

“I’ve tried, but he trots out that same sorry story about how real life has no trigger warnings, _god_ , I hate that.” Windblade examined her fingers. They had finally stopped shaking.

 

“You could--.”

 

“I don’t know where Megatron stands on the subject of trigger warnings, and I don’t want to get him involved unless I know. I don’t need to be verbally beaten up by yet another person this week because I’m asking for some sensitivity.”

 

“You can ask if Starscream knows.”

 

“Maybe. I just—I threw up today. Sometimes I think Tarn deliberately finds...bah.”

 

“You shouldn’t be this sick over a class,” Nautica reminded her.

 

“I’m not trying to excuse it, but whatever limited influence I have, I don’t want to waste it. If Megatron’s not in favor of trigger warnings, then I don’t want to ask him. I know that Optimus is in favor of them, but it’s not his department and it’s not his TA.”

 

“You’ve got another two months or so in this class, and if you’re this sick over it now, it’s _not_ going to get better.”

 

“I’ll talk to Starscream,” Windblade conceded. “He would know.”

 

“Okay.” Nautica rose. “You think you could keep some ginger ale and crackers down?”

 

“I think so.”

 

“I’ll be right back.”

 

Windblade considered texting Starscream, but discarded it. That conversation needed to happen in person, and she would need to handle it delicately. It was clear there was already drama between him and Tarn, and she wouldn’t put it past Starscream to use her as another piece in whatever was going on there. She would need to say that it was more a class-wide issue than a problem for her.

 

Nautica came back, and she nodded her thanks. Nautica sat down next to her and took up her tablet for her homework, and Windblade focused on the bubbles in her glass. She had homework of her own to do, but the nausea from earlier had left her sensitive. She needed a break; nothing was due the next day, anyway.

 

“Percy wasn’t in a good mood today,” Nautica said after Windblade had managed to eat three crackers. “I think he and Skyfire are fighting.”

 

Windblade paused. “I thought...never mind.”

 

“What did you think?”

 

“Percy and me talked about it a few nights ago, and I thought that they were going to talk.”

 

Nautica hummed. “Maybe they did, and didn’t like what they had to say.”

 

“It’s weird, to have friends in the friend group that are...”

 

“Maybe because _you_ were the one doing the breaking up last time,” Nautica looked at her. “And yes, it’s weird, especially when the friends remain in the friend group. By the by, if we’re forced to pick between them, I’m claiming Percy.”

 

“And Wheeljack gets Skyfire?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

“Did you have a discussion like this about Starscream?”

 

“You never told me we hated him,” Nautica shrugged. “So the conversation never happened.”

 

Windblade paused. “That’s right, we never did. Has Percy--?”

 

“No, but I’m pretty sure it’s coming. He nearly took Stormy’s head off at the neck when Stormy tried to provoke him yesterday. You don’t act like that with a relationship you want to keep.” Nautica leaned her head against Windblade’s shoulder. “You didn’t get angry and stay angry. You just moped.”

 

“I think Starscream wants to get back together,” Windblade said.

 

“And you are...?”

 

“Undecided.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I have issues I haven’t worked out yet, and it’s not fair to make him the brunt of the issues when they’re my issues to work through.”

 

“That’s very mature of you,” Nautica nodded sagely.

 

“Thank you for your approval,” Windblade finished her crackers. “But, okay, and this is the shallow part, I miss sex.”

 

“Was he good at it? You never did give me any details.”

 

“Oh, _so_ good. I wondered if I was putting up with his mouth because of what else his mouth--.”

 

“Nope, don’t need that much detail. Dicks are inherently strange to me.”

 

“They’re very floppy.”

 

Nautica winced. “Ewwwwww.”

 

“If you’re with someone who knows what they’re doing, it can be fun.”

 

“But there’s a...mess.”

 

“If you’re going to tell me there isn’t a mess when girls do it, I’ll tell you I have the number of a realtor who’s willing to sell you land on the moon.”

 

“But it’s a different kind of mess.”

 

“I’m going to cut you off there,” Windblade said, feeling nausea return. “I don’t have the stomach for that right now.”

 

“Mkay.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“But you should really find out if Megatron is pro-or-anti-trigger warnings. This isn’t good.”

 

“I will.” Windblade ran her hands through her hair. “I’m tired.”

 

“Have some weak tea, you’ll feel better.”

 

“And _that_ is why you’re my best friend.”

 

Nautica smiled at her. “And that is why I let you complain to me.”

 

\--

 

Starscream stared at his math. Something wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He had been working on it for hours, and something was still off.

 

A hand landed on his arm, and he nearly jumped before he looked at it and saw bright blue nail polish. He glanced from the hand to the arm to Windblade, who looked concerned. “Why—you’re here.”

 

“I’m here,” she agreed, hefting a plastic bag. “Are you okay?”

 

“I feel like I should be asking you that.” He looked her over. “You look like shit.” Her skin was greyish and there were deep circles under her eyes.

 

“There’s a reason for that,” she sighed. “So as it turns out, I’m not here just because I wanted to see you.”

 

“Aw,” he examined her further. “Is that a bribe?”

 

“I bring lunch,” she offered, “but I need a question answered.”

 

“Food first,” he decided. He pushed his chair away from the computer console to head to the table. “When was the last time you ate?”

 

“This morning,” she followed him to the table, and after he sat her down, he wandered off in search of drinks.

 

“How early this morning?”

 

He didn’t have to look at her to know she was making a face at him. “When I got up.”

 

He checked the time. It was a little past 1. “You’re a fount of information today.” He found bottled tea and soda, and he grabbed one of each. “Let me guess, you ate at your usual time of 6:30 this morning.”

 

She sighed. “Yes.”

 

“So food at this time will be good. Why do you look like shit?”

 

“I had a class yesterday that...I didn’t react well.”

 

He frowned as he sat down. “You’re not taking any chemistry classes.”

 

She unscrewed the cap of her tea and gave him a Look. “Where does Megatron stand on trigger warnings?”

 

“He’s never given any sort of opinion on it that I know of,” he opened the bag and found salad. While she liked salad more than he did, he did like Cobb salads, and he assumed the Cobb salad was for him. “Why?”

 

“One of my classes has been showing clips of terrorism, and there’s no warning for content, and of course, the content can be...” She breathed in deeply, “There’s pretty graphic torture.”

 

Starscream frowned further. “Who’s the—it’s Tarn. Of course it’s Tarn. Is it bothering the whole class?”

 

“No one’s happy about it, but when some people asked for warnings, he said that the people that were harmed in these videos didn’t get any warnings, so the least we could do is--.”

 

Starscream held up a hand. “I get it. Have you gone to Megatron?”

 

“I didn’t want to until I knew where he stood.”

 

“I think he would be bothered, knowing that Tarn was showing torture without considering the psychological effects, no matter where he stands on the issue of trigger warnings. Is that why you’re ill?”

 

She dropped her eyes and focused on stabbing leaves of her salad. “I’ve found it...difficult to be unaffected.”

 

Anger was a comforting burn inside his chest. “And you’ve spoken to him.”

 

“I’ve tried, but Tarn is a walking trigger warning in and of himself at this point.” Windblade breathed out carefully. “I wouldn’t normally make a nuisance of myself, but I’m nauseous just walking into that classroom now.”

 

“I’ll talk to him.”

 

“ _No_.” The vehemence in her tone startled him. “If you get involved, you have no power or influence here. If I get Megatron involved, I’m weighing whatever influence I possess and I need to know that I’m using it wisely.”

 

“But he--.”

 

“He’s the worst,” Windblade agreed, “but don’t do this for me. I need to do this myself. You have no stake in the outcome, I wasn’t even going to tell you.”

 

“Then why did you?”

 

Her cheeks flared. “You asked, so I answered.”

 

There was a strange emotion in his chest, outweighing the anger, and it took him a moment to get it under control. “You didn’t have the obligation.”

 

“No,” she said. “I didn’t.”

 

“I’ll talk to Megatron, see what I can do.” He stabbed a piece of hardboiled egg.

 

“No, don’t, I mean, I just want to know that I’m not going to be used as the test case for trigger warnings on college campuses.”

 

“I have _some_ influence with him,” Starscream pointed out.

 

“But do you actually care about trigger warnings, or is this more about you wanting to give Tarn the finger?” She arched her brows at him, and he grumbled incoherently. “If you’re going to put yourself on the line, make sure it’s for something you actually care about.”

 

“That’s not half-bad political advice,” he reflected.

 

“It’s more than that,” she snorted. “Don’t engage unless you’re invested in the endgame.”

 

“What happens when something happens to make you retract your investment?” He watched her carefully, and he knew she understood what he was actually asking.

 

To her credit, she met his eyes. “I try to make sure I’m making the best decision at the time. Sometimes I’m not. Sometimes I make mistakes.”

 

“A mistake, huh.”

 

“As much as I try to present myself otherwise, I can be swept away by emotions and inner demons,” she said dryly, “just as much as any other person. That doesn’t deny that circumstances can exist without my consent,” he dipped his head, “but I try not to let my emotions rule my decisions. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen, and it doesn’t mean that my decisions are always correct.”

 

He thought that over. That sounded...positive. “So does that mean we could--.”

 

Windblade’s phone went off, and they both jumped. “Chromia? Oh hey. Nothing’s wrong, is it? Oh good. Yeah, I can pick up milk and bread on the way home. I’ve—class is still happening, I think. No, I—oh. That’s not good. Let me check what’s going on, and I’ll get back to you.” She hung up the phone and tapped at her phone screen. “Did you know that campus is under a major storm warning and classes are canceled?”

 

“I did—not know that,” he said as he checked his own messages, and yes, there it was. “Must’ve been...”

 

“I think it’s the tropical storm that’s been aggravating northern Florida and Georgia. It was supposed to turn right into the Atlantic and be a hurricane again. I guess not. Can you--?”

 

“Yeah, I can give you a ride home.”

 

“Thanks, Starscream.”

 

“No big.” He finished up his salad. “Do you need to pick up some necessities?”

 

“I do. I also need to buy ice and a few Styrofoam coolers. Do you need anything?”

 

“I don’t think so, but I can text TC and he’ll let me know. He knows the kitchen better than I do. Finish your salad and we’ll go.”

 

She nodded. “How are—how are you doing?”

 

He looked over to his desktop. “Struggling with math. I’m taking an urban planning class this semester and trying to figure out the equations for energy usage is just...”

 

She laughed. “The idea of you poring over energy usage statistics for a city...have you decided to stop keeping your lights on in rooms you’re not using yet?”

 

“It’s crossed my mind.” He smirked at her, and she smiled back.

 

“What town are you using for the data? Is it a made up town?”

 

“My hometown, actually. I’ve gotten all the necessary information from City Hall, and it’s useful for understanding the non-political machine that runs a city, but sometimes it feels like someone’s been digging through my brain with a stick.”

 

“I’m intimately familiar with that feeling,” she said as she rose to throw out her to-go container. “I’m getting that feeling often in International Law. Optimus tells me it’s going to click soon, but I keep waiting and it’s not happening.”

 

“I hated International Law,” he informed her as he threw out his own garbage. “I get it, I get why it’s important, but I hated how twisty it was. It’s not my area of law.”

 

“I kind of like it, when the mist lifts and I _see_ it. Diplomacy matters. I just wish there wasn’t so much mist.” She waited by the computer console as he saved and logged out, and he shrugged the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

 

“Well, keep talking to Optimus. I’m sure he’ll help.”

 

“He won’t help me anymore,” she pouted slightly, and he placed a hand on her lower back to guide her out. She let him. “Not until I go spend some time with Megatron in office hours.”

 

“And the reason why you aren’t?”

 

“There are two, actually.” They both made the same face at the rain pouring down outside the door of the Interdisciplinary Sciences building, and she pulled a small umbrella out of her bag as he lifted the collar of his shirt. Once her umbrella—scarlet, of course—was unfolded, they stepped closer together, and he noted her perfume. She smelled faintly floral. “One, Tarn’s hours as his TA tend to be during his office hours and that’s uncomfortable. Two, I’m still not sure where Megatron and me stand. He likes to call on me for the difficult questions, and I’ve held my own but I feel like he’s waiting for a slip-up.”

 

“He does that.” His arm tightened around her waist to direct her toward the parking lot. “Do you hate Tarn?”

 

“I’m starting to. I’m getting tired of throwing up after his class. It’s only happened twice, but that’s too much.” She squeezed his elbow. “That’s not an invitation for you to commit grievous bodily harm, by the way.”

 

“Ugh, _fine_.”

 

She lent him her umbrella so that he could walk around to his side of the car with as little soaking as possible, but they both looked like drowned rats once he started the car. “Don’t squeeze the water out of your hair in my car,” he ordered.

 

She rolled her eyes at him. “Because I was _so_ about to do that.”

 

“Hush.”

 

“You’re growing your hair out,” she observed.

 

“Just a little. I’ve had it close shaved for a really long time, so I thought, why not. We’ll see how I feel once we get to needing hats.”

 

“The temperature could go down more quickly,” she said, “I hate that October in the South is rarely pleasant.”

 

“It got so muggy in Virginia this summer, sometimes I felt like my skin would peel off like old wallpaper.”

 

“Ew,” she commented.

 

“It wouldn’t be attractive for anybody.”

 

He was a little surprised at how easily they talked again. There was still some tension—her shoulders were set—but they could snark back and forth, and no one could quite keep with him the way she could. Megatron could, but there was always that tinge of malice to it.

 

He pulled to a stop in front of her house after they’d made their grocery run, and the weather seemed to favor inconveniencing the both of them, because as soon as they got to the porch, the rain came down until he could barely see his car fifteen feet away and there was a loud thunderclap.

 

She looked at him. “Well, you’re welcome to stay.”

 

“I was about to ask.” He looked down at his shirt with disgust; it was soaked through, and it would get clammy before it dried completely. The hems of his jeans were equally damp, but that he didn’t mind so much when he was wearing thick-knit athletic socks and sneakers.

 

“I—um--,” she turned her back on him to unlock the door, and he turned toward her. “I have one of your shirts here.”

 

“You do.”

 

“You left it once, and then it was just too awkward.” She held open the screen door, and he grabbed it while she pushed the other door open. “Nautica, you okay?”

 

“Fine!” Nautica hollered from the kitchen. “Chromia’s stuck at work, the storm’s worse in Charleston and her superiors aren’t letting anybody leave.” She came out of the kitchen and her eyebrows jumped to her hairline. “Hi, Screamer.”

 

“Hello, Nautica.”

 

Windblade looked between the two of them. “Let me...get you that shirt, and then I’m going to change.” She vanished—well, _fled_ , more like—and Nautica came over to him.

 

“I can toss your shirt in the dryer if you want. Jeans, too.”

 

“I think I’d prefer to keep my pants on.”

 

“You and me both,” Nautica shuddered. “Come on, we’ve got food.”

 

“You _always_ have food.”

 

“I’m glad you recognize that,” Windblade entered the room and tossed him the shirt. If he remembered, that was the shirt he had used...when he looked back up at her, she was bright red, and Nautica cleared her throat.

 

With a shock, he realized he was smirking at her. She turned on her heel and fled back into her room, and Starscream followed after Nautica. “Are you ever going to stop tweaking her tail?” Nautica asked as she opened the fridge and took the pitcher of tea out.

 

“Probably not. Not while I enjoy her reactions so much.”

 

“So, you’re back to enjoying her reactions...?”

 

“Am I allowed to play onto your relationship as her best friend?” he asked warily.

 

“Within limits, yeah.”

 

“I think she enjoys me tweaking her tail,” he said.

 

“Hmm, yes. I’d agree with that. She was afraid of running back into you, you know.”

 

“...really.”

 

Nautica shrugged and offered him a glass. He took it. “She’s going to be a bit, she’s blow-drying her hair. She hates it when people are mad at her and she’s not mad back.”

 

“That one, I think I’ve picked up on.” They exchanged a look at the memory of Windblade’s stellar experience with vodka. “She’s implied that there’s...hope.”

 

“Well, there’s always hope.”

 

“Not like that.” He shifted from foot to foot. “Does she regret it?”

 

“I think it’s crossed her mind, but if you want my two cents? Talk about it. You two don’t talk about something until you have to. Buck the trend! Talking is good.”

 

“And where?”

 

She snorted and reached out to pat his shoulder. “You’re a smart guy, _you_ figure it out.” The lights flickered and went out, and they heard Windblade’s shriek. “Well, guess who wasn’t expecting _that_.”

 

“You all right?” he called.

 

“Fine!” Windblade pushed open the door, and her hair was slightly less sopping than it had been. “Whose idea was _that_?”

 

“I believe nature,” Nautica said wisely.

 

“Well, fuck nature.”

 

Starscream raised his eyebrows. “Towels don’t work?”

 

“That bathroom has no window, and it’s at the end of the hall,” Nautica clarified. “It’s very dark right now.”

 

“I walked into the doorframe,” Windblade grumbled. She rubbed her shoulder.

 

“Aw, poor baby.” Nautica found a towel and tossed it to her. “Go use your bedroom like a grown up.”

 

Windblade grumbled and stomped her way into her bedroom, where she closed the door with a loud snap, and Nautica looked back at Starscream with a rueful smile. “She’s sweet, really.”

 

He was finding it difficult to keep his face straight. “She is.”

 

“I’m glad you see that, in all seriousness. I know she’s hard to get information from, you know that as well as me, but she’s wonderful.” Nautica waited a beat, and when he couldn’t find a response, she said, “Help me hunt down some candles.”

 

“Yes ma’am.”

 

\--

 

Windblade cleared her throat and knocked on Megatron’s closed door. Normally, she would respect the closed door but she knew he had two hours on Friday when his TAs were not around, and she wanted to speak to him then.

 

He opened the door. “Windblade? It couldn’t wait for office hours?”

 

“No,” she said quietly. “It can’t.”

 

He looked her over. “Come in.”

 

He closed the door behind her, and she hesitated for a moment before she sat down. “Sir, I don’t mean to complain about any of your professors, let alone your TAs, but there’s something--.”

 

“You don’t need to be formal, I know you adhere to the stiff upper lip school of emotional issues.” Megatron sat down in his chair and leaned back. “What did Tarn do?”

 

“I—have no objection to him as a person, or to the content he clearly cares about--.”

 

“Windblade, with all due respect, get to the damn point. I’m not going to beat you up for bringing me an issue—as long as it’s a genuine issue. Which it probably is.”

 

She took a breath. “He keeps showing us clips of torture in class, sir. Without warning us as to what we can expect. I have gently asked him to warn us, because not all of us can stomach that, but he says it will reduce the emotional response, and in order to understand why such tactics are effective, we have to let ourselves have the emotional response of the targeted audience.”

 

“How have _you_ been handling it?”

 

She folded her hands together to keep him from seeing the slight tremble that just wouldn’t go away. “I’ve been finding it difficult to stomach.” _Please_ understand what she was implying, Megatron. _Please_.

 

He leaned back. “I see. And just to clarify, you have spoken of this with Tarn?”

 

“We’ve exchanged a few emails and we’ve spoken about it after class, and while he sees my concerns, he believes that keeping the integrity of the emotional response is more important.”

 

“Are you the only one?”

 

“Three people have dropped, two others skip on the days he shows videos, and there are four—me included—who have anxiety attacks over the course of the class and are forced to leave.”

 

“And...of course. _Of course_.”

 

“I believe that the subject of trigger warnings cause most college departments to have conniptions, to say the least. When I’ve broached the subject with him, _using_ the topic of trigger warnings, he blew me off. For the record, I am not objecting to the clips he’s showing, even if I think it’s too much, but just to...let us know beforehand.”

 

“Is he claiming—never mind. I’ll talk to him.”

 

“That’s all I’m asking, sir.”

 

“Answer me a question.”

 

“Yes, sir?” she asked.

 

“Is he why you don’t come to office hours?”

 

Her shoulders hunched with discomfort. “Er...yes, sir. It’s not that I don’t like him--.”

 

“Although I’m sure he’s making it difficult.”

 

“—well, something like that.”

 

“And it has nothing to do with my relationship with Starscream, and yours.”

 

He gave her points when she met his eyes, she could see it. “I won’t deny that that’s a part of it.”

 

“Then why did you take my class?”

 

“Because I heard you were a fantastic teacher and I had to take another elective.”

 

“Are they correct?”

 

She suddenly understood what he was getting at. “This is beginning to sound like fishing for compliments, sir,” she said, deliberately adopting severity.

 

“Oh, is it? I thought I was being so blunt.”

 

“In the interest of keeping my grade intact, I do not have the liberty of equal bluntness.” He and Optimus were similar, but where Optimus shrouded his jibes in gentility, Megatron had them front and center.

 

Megatron waved a hand. “I’m not a vengeful grader.”

 

“Fine, you really want to know my opinion?”

 

“Please.”

 

She sat upright, and he leaned in toward her. “I think that they’re right, that you are a fantastic teacher. However,” he was starting to look too pleased with himself, “you get too caught up in the minutiae of the cases we cover instead of the bigger picture.”

 

“...really.”

 

“We don’t need to know the names of every person involved in every case we’ve read. We just need to know the plaintiffs, defendants, and the details involved in how the case was decided.”

 

He considered it. “That’s fair.”

 

“I don’t mean to make trouble for you,” she said after a beat. “And I don’t personally know where you stand on the subject of trigger warnings, so--.”

 

“You took a risk in coming to talk to me. Had I shot you down, what would you have done?”

 

“Dropped the class, and I would have made noise about why. Even television shows that don’t warn for rape will warn for torture.”

 

“And every student deserves to have a space where they can feel safe coming to class,” he nodded. “Have you lost weight since the semester started? Before you get all flustered, I just want to know how you’re doing, physically.”

 

“I’ve lost weight,” she admitted. “Weight, according to my doctor, I can’t afford to lose.”

 

He looked her over. “I see that. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

 

“You’re welcome, sir.”

 

“Windblade?”

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

“You should speak up more. That’s why I ask you questions, you know. You’re quick and you have insight the rest struggle to catch up with.”

 

The compliment made her feel dizzy for a moment. “I feel like any insight is hard-won, so I’m not exactly trying to give it up so quickly.”

 

He had a warmer smile than she had known. “You don’t need to be modest. It’s okay to be right.”

 

She stood up. “Thank you, sir.”

 

“You’re very welcome.”

 

\--

 

_13 Weeks Down_

 

“You’ve been living on my couch for five days, Skyfire. Not that I’m complaining, but I’m ready for you to tell me what you and Percy fought about.”

 

Skyfire dragged his hand down his face. “Do I have to?”

 

Starscream tapped his foot twice. “Yes.”

 

“Fine. We fought about you, and about Windblade, and somehow managed not to circle back around to the point that Percy’s distant and impatient with me all the time. It must be easier to blame the two of you than whatever issues _we’re_ working through.”

 

“...huh.” Starscream leaned against the counter. Thundercracker had his study group over, so they had retreated to their shared lab. “That’s...weird.”

 

“Really? I thought you’d be flattered.”

 

“What, being the focus of a fight between you _and someone else?_ No thanks.” Skyfire was in a rare bad temper, and there was one tried and true method of getting him _out_ of it, but Starscream doubted that Skyfire would be up for it—in all senses of the word.

 

“I would have thought you’d love being the center of the fight between me and ‘the boyfriend.’” Skyfire was looming. Starscream knew that look. Maybe he was up for it after all, but should he...?

 

“Not now,” Starscream was perfectly frank. “Why are you looming?”

 

Skyfire blinked. “I—er—oh.”

 

“Yeah. Something you want?”

 

Skyfire bit his lip. “I—uh--.”

 

“Let me guess, you and Percy haven’t fucked since long before you two fought. You know, have you considered having angry sex? It does wonders for your communication.”

 

“You mean it does wonders for _your_ communication.” Starscream examined him, and Skyfire sighed. “Sorry, I’m—not making good decisions.”

 

“But you want to make it.”

 

“It’s—why am I telling you this? You wouldn’t understand.”

 

Starscream rolled his eyes. “Try me. And I know I’m bucking tradition here, but you’re being an ass.”

 

“It’s—It’s been a while since I felt _wanted_ , you know? Percy’s distant and he barely touches me, and our talks are limited to how our days have been. But if I do this, and if I do this _with you_ , he would never forgive me.”

 

“Do you want him to?”

 

Skyfire hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

 

“Then come over here and decide.” Starscream beckoned to him.

 

Skyfire stayed where he was. “What are you going to do?”

 

“What we always do when we hit a wall, I’m going to kiss you, and you’re going to realize that I won’t break if you hold me too tight, and then you’ll bend me over the desk and fuck me.”

 

“It doesn’t bother you, even knowing that events for _you_ are developing.”

 

“I’ve hit a wall,” he admitted. “I could use, well. That.”

 

“If I cross that line, I have to be prepared for the consequences.”

 

“You don’t have to tell him.”

 

Skyfire shook his head. “I’m not you, Starscream. He’s going to hear about it, and it’s better that he hears it from me.”

 

“Fine, so spin it. Tell him what you told me, that I made you feel wanted in a way you haven’t in a while--.”

 

“That’s manipulative.”

 

“Him being distant and cold except for when you’re fighting is _also_ manipulative, but whatever.” Starscream shrugged. “Look, I’m not the person that typically does this, but honestly? You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met, and I know Optimus Prime fairly well. If he can’t see that, he’s an idiot and you deserve better, okay?”

 

Skyfire’s answer was a crushing kiss, and Starscream wrapped a hand around the back of Skyfire’s neck. They had never had particularly gentle sex, and Skyfire lived up to the trend by biting down on Starscream’s bottom lip. Starscream’s hand tightened on Skyfire’s hip, and he thrust up to roll their hips together.

 

Strange, it had been over a year and they were still good at it.

 

Skyfire ripped his mouth away from his and moved down his neck. Starscream couldn’t bite back a moan when Skyfire’s teeth fastened on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, and Skyfire slammed his wrist against the edge of the table. “You get what I give you and you’ll thank me for it,” Skyfire’s voice was ragged, and Starscream’s mouth went dry. “Get on your knees.”

 

“Yes _sir_.”

 

Starscream slid down the table until he landed on his knees, and Skyfire was already fumbling with his belt. Starscream waited until his fly was down, and then his hands were on Skyfire’s hips and he was swallowing down Skyfire’s cock. Skyfire groaned, his hands on Starscream’s shoulders, and Starscream pulled off to suck on the head of his cock.

 

Skyfire’s hands tightened, and Starscream went to work. He loved that, the sense of control that giving head always accompanied. Could it be misused? Of course. The first guy who had taught him how to do it had tried to control him, but Starscream had reminded him that a _very_ sensitive part of his anatomy was in someone else’s mouth, and he had demonstrated that by uncovering his teeth and letting the edges rest against the shaft _very_ gently, and when his partner had pulled on his hair, he had shrieked with pain.

 

Skyfire was better mannered, and he didn’t try to direct him.

 

Skyfire was also quiet, but Starscream could tell when he got close. His knees would start trembling, and his fingernails would bite into Starscream’s shoulders. He opened his mouth a little further and savored Skyfire’s smothered gasp as he took all of Skyfire’s dick—he could feel the head of Skyfire’s cock at the back of his throat, and he warbled appreciation. “Up,” Skyfire’s voice was strangled, and Starscream paused. “I’m gonna come down your throat if we continue and I don’t wanna do that.”

 

Starscream chuckled once, and Skyfire inhaled sharply. “ _Now_ ,” he rumbled, and Starscream removed himself. Skyfire opened a drawer— _the_ drawer—and found a condom and lube. “We never got rid of these?” He peered at the expiration date on the condom, and Skyfire relaxed when he realized they were still good.

 

“’Course not. Always be prepared.”

 

“I was a boy scout,” Skyfire mused as they removed their pants. Starscream’s own dick was starting to hurt with how hard he was, and he instinctively grabbed at it to relieve some of the pressure, but Skyfire’s eyes went dark and he grabbed Starscream’s wrist. “ _No_.”

 

“Better do something about that, then,” Starscream said breathlessly. “Before I take care of it myself.”

 

Skyfire growled and shoved himself against Starscream, who refused to admit that the sound that emitted from his throat was a squeak. He ended up pinned against the desk, Skyfire’s hand holding his face flush against the tabletop. His hips bent over the edge of the table awkwardly, and his cock bobbed under the table without any stimulation.

 

Starscream heard Skyfire uncap the bottle of lube, and he tensed when two of Skyfire’s fingers touched the small of his back. “Relax, it’s just me,” Skyfire murmured, drawing his fingers down.

 

Starscream’s eyes fluttered closed when Skyfire found his entrance. “C-cold.”

 

“It’ll warm up soon enough. You’re looser than I expected.”

 

Starscream opened his eyes to give Skyfire a pointed look, and Skyfire restrained a chuckle. “Right. You know what you like.”

 

“Damn strai— _oh_.”

 

“Hush,” Skyfire flexed his fingers, and Starscream reached for the edge of the desk. Skyfire’s hand on his face trailed down to his hip, and he dug his nails in against the bone. Starscream arched, and Skyfire pushed him back down. “Sk-Skyfire!”

 

“Easy.”

 

“I’m not going to _break_.”

 

“Oh, I know.” His fingers left, and Starscream bit back the instinctive whine. “I’m going to test that.”

 

“Feel—oh _shit_ —free.”

 

Skyfire’s hands were tight on his hips and it had been a _long_ time since Starscream had let anybody fuck him. He tried to buck his hips to get Skyfire to _move, damnit_ , but Skyfire’s grip was unrelenting. “Hold on,” Skyfire warned, and then he was moving, and Starscream was burning, but it was _so good_.

 

“F-fuck—Skyfire—could you—FUCK—damnit I— _Skyfire!_ ”

 

“Make a mess,” Skyfire ordered, and _damnit_ , Starscream came all over the underside of the table and the floor. Skyfire wasn’t done yet, but his grip had shifted from controlling to supporting, because Skyfire’s knees were wobbling again.

 

With a sigh, Starscream accepted his fate of collapsing to the floor in a sweaty pile with Skyfire.

 

One thrust, two, and then Skyfire was finished. His knees collapsed, and Starscream squawked as he was yanked off the table into a trust pile on the floor. “Get offfff,” he whined, and Skyfire flicked his ear.

 

“Hold still for just a little while, damn.”

 

“ _Fine_.” With ill grace, Starscream settled against Skyfire. “So that was...”

 

“He’s going to hate me for this,” Skyfire said abruptly. “He’s going to say I chose you to hurt him deliberately, and—he’d be right.”

 

“You don’t actually have to be nice all the time,” Starscream pointed out. “If it’s not working, it’s not working.”

 

“The thing is? I want it to work. I love him, dearly, and I know he feels the same, but he’s going to hate me for doing this.” Skyfire stretched. “I’m finding it hard to care.”

 

“Orgasms do that.”

 

“Shut up. No, okay, it’s more like...I’ve been feeling so hurt over him shutting me out, and I want him to hurt back. It’s petty, and awful, but the feelings are there.”

 

“I always embrace the pettiness.”

 

Skyfire flicked his ear again. “I’m aware. Your usual conflict resolution doesn’t work here.”

 

“If he’s hurt you so bad, why do you want to stay with him?” Starscream pushed at Skyfire. He was _still inside_ and needed not to be. Skyfire got the message and rolled away, and Starscream went hunting for his boxers. “You don’t have to.”

 

When he turned around, Skyfire had a strange look on his face. “Pot and kettle, Star. Have you remembered who _you’re_ courting?”

 

Starscream paused in pulling on his jeans. “That’s your issue with her? That she hurt me? I hurt her too. It was an equal opportunity hurting. And in my own defense, she had a good reason for breaking it off, but we can at least put emotions aside to _talk_. The fighting comes first, not after.”

 

Skyfire’s eyes were steady. “That sounds like rationalization to me.”

 

“Maybe it is, but I don’t care.” Starscream yanked his pants on. “I’m not asking that you like her, but you do need to accept her. She doesn’t think you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread, unlike the rest of our friends, and I think that stings you.”

 

“She could--,” Skyfire’s face twisted. “She’s the reason our friendship soured.”

 

“No. She was just the catalyst for us realizing that our relationship had some major fucking problems. Doesn’t make it her fault. And she’s not trying to take me away from you.”

 

“I’m not trying to take you away from her,” Skyfire pointed out.

 

“No, but you tend to slag off on her when you can. Fine, go home, explain this to the boyfriend—if you can—and remember I still have a couch.”

 

“Thanks, Starscream.”

 

Starscream shrugged a shoulder as he found his bag. “No big. I gotta talk to Megatron, anyway.”

 

“You fixed your wall?”

 

“Cracked it, at least.”

 

\--

 

Skyfire’s heart sank to approximately lower than the soles of his shoes when he saw the bedroom light was still on. Percy was a night owl, he always had been, and it was a Friday night—of course Percy would still be up. Of course.

 

Still, Skyfire managed to dredge up the courage from somewhere. “Percy? Can we—talk?”

 

“I would very much like to do that,” Percy had a small smile. It was full of hope, and Skyfire felt like scum.

 

“I—made a mistake, tonight. Well, I call it a mistake but it was a choice, and I knew it was going to hurt you, but I made it anyway because you’ve hurt me so much over this—this fight over _nothing_ , and I’m so sorry, I need you to know that, I’m so--.”

 

“Skyfire,” Percy interrupted, and the smile was gone. “What happened?”

 

“I slept with someone tonight. I knew it was cheating, and I did it anyway.”

 

“Cheating—Skyfire, you— _cheated?_ ”

 

He was back to feeling too tall for Percy’s bedroom, and Percy’s face was twisted with hurt and betrayal, and it was only going to get worse. “Yes. I did.”

 

“Where?”

 

“I don’t think that matters--.”

 

“Do I know them?” Percy demanded. “Did they know you were with someone, or did you pick someone up? Because if they did know, then--.”

 

Skyfire couldn’t find the words, but Percy read him anyway, and his eyes widened with horror. “You cheated with _Starscream_. And you--,” he stopped to breathe, and when he looked back up at Skyfire, his face was utterly blank, and Skyfire felt his fingertips go cold. “You need to sleep on the couch tonight. We’ll discuss this tomorrow morning, when I’m not so angry.”

 

“Percy--.”

 

“Go away,” Percy’s voice was icy, and Skyfire’s shoulders slumped. “In the morning, I said.”

 

“I—as you wish.” Skyfire left the room, and Percy was grateful that he closed the door.

 

He tried to get some rest that night, he truly did, but he kept tossing and turning, and the anger kept rising. Skyfire _knew_ he was vulnerable about Starscream, and deliberately slept with him anyway. He would still be angry if Skyfire had slept with a stranger, but that at least he could come to accept that in a diagonal way.

 

But since it was _Starscream_ , he couldn’t.

 

He rose early and tried to plan out what to say. He needed to be able to say his piece, so that Skyfire would _understand_ , and he did his best to ignore the chill that meant that Skyfire understood _exactly_ what he was doing, and he didn’t care.

 

Because—if Skyfire didn’t care, then what were they doing there?

 

But Skyfire had apologized, and he’d told Percy right after it happened, and he wasn’t manipulative enough to use that to twist the knife deeper. If he was, then Skyfire and Starscream were a pair, and Percy hadn’t picked up on that. He and Skyfire had been together for almost eighteen months, and that level of emotional manipulation would have showed before that.

 

He hoped. He _had_ to hope.

 

He left the bedroom, and Skyfire had already made coffee. “You want some?” he offered.

 

“Please.”

 

Skyfire fixed his coffee how he liked it—two teaspoons of sugar, one of cream and a shot of hazelnut syrup—and passed it to him. “You get any sleep at all?”

 

“No, not really.” Percy swirled the mug and glanced back up at Skyfire. “Why did you do it?”

 

Skyfire sighed, and Percy’s hackles went up. “I know you’ve been working through some things, and--.”

 

“We’re not discussing my faults here.”

 

“They’re relevant.”

 

“How so?”

 

“When you’re working through something, you pull back, and I could tell that whatever you were working through, it was about _me_ , because our intimacy and comfort level went _way_ down. He—made me feel wanted again, and I hadn’t felt that for over a month.”

 

Percy felt a stab of guilt, but he ignored it. “So your only recourse was to sleep with someone else?” he demanded. “But not only someone else, a person you _know_ I’m sensitive about?”

 

“He was there--.”

 

“Bullshit! You didn’t trip and land your dick in his ass.”

 

“That’s unnecessarily crude.”

 

“Bite me. Are you seriously telling me that you would have slept with literally anyone?”

 

Skyfire looked at him. “It’s not like I go to bars, Percy.”

 

His hand tightened on the mug of coffee. “Did he talk you into it?”

 

“No, he—this is on me, completely. I regret it--.”

 

“But you still did it. And don’t act like the lack of sex had addled you; you’re one of the most self-possessed people I’ve ever known, and if you knew it was wrong _after_ , you definitely knew it was wrong before. You did this to hurt me, stop trying to say otherwise.”

 

Skyfire’s hands stilled on the counter. “I did. It worked, clearly.”

 

Percy put the mug down on the counter before he threw the contents at Skyfire. “You need to go. Now.”

 

“I am gone.”

 

Percy’s hands tightened into fists, but he kept silent while Skyfire pulled a few items together and left with a quick snap of the door. It was only once he was absolutely sure he was alone and unable to be overheard that he took a deep breath and slid to the floor.

 

That went exactly as he _hadn’t_ wanted.

 

\--

 

Windblade hummed to herself as she checked her earrings. She never wore large earrings, but she had a pair of gold earrings that winked through her hair at her earlobes, and she loved how they caught the light.

 

Her phone shrilled, and she checked the caller ID instinctively. _Percy?_ He rarely called her. Like the rest of them, he preferred to text. “Percy? What’s up?”

 

“Windblade, I—” Percy’s voice was raspy and wrecked, and she had never heard his voice so high. Worry replaced the happy anticipation, and she listened as he continued, “Do you have plans tonight?”

 

“Nothing that can’t be rearranged,” she said instinctively. Going to the movies would have to wait. “What do you need?”

 

“I--,” he caught his breath, “Could we do something? I just need to get out of the flat.”

 

“There’s a great diner that does breakfast for dinner. Would that work?”

 

“That sounds—yes, that’s acceptable.”

 

“When would you like to do this?”

 

“Preferably,” his voice broke in the middle, and Windblade worried more. What had _happened_? “Preferably presently.”

 

“Come on over.”

 

“T-Thank you.”

 

Once he hung up, she texted Moonracer about the change of plans, and she stuck her head out of her room. “Hey, Nautica?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Did something happen between Percy and Skyfire?”

 

“Not that I know of, but Percy didn’t work with us yesterday. And it’s not like he’s going to tell me anything sensitive while Stormy’s around,” Nautica hollered back.

 

“Fair point.”

 

“Why, what do you think happened?”

 

“Percy just called me to see if we could do dinner, and he sounds awful.” Windblade looked up at Nautica as she came closer; the conversation didn’t technically need to be shouted down the hallway.

 

“Oh god.”

 

“Yeah, that’s my reaction.”

 

“I hope it wasn’t too bad,” Nautica mused. “Percy hides it, but he’s super vulnerable about his relationship with Skyfire.”

 

“I know he’s had some concerns.” Windblade raked her hands through her hair. “Well, bright side, at least I’m not wearing heels tonight.”

 

“You canceled?”

 

“Rain checked. Though I’m kind of feeling like it might be canceled. If Percy’s broken up about something, I’m not thinking that I want him to be alone for a while.”

 

“Fair point.” Nautica squeezed her arm. “Are we shepherding him?”

 

“ _Subtly._ And don’t ask Brainstorm to do it; he won’t be kind.”

 

“Yeah—no, he won’t be. Are you going to offer him the couch?”

 

“Only if he wants it. I’m not sure if he wants to be alone or not.”

 

Nautica was silent for a moment. “Would you stay with him tonight, if he asked?”

 

“If he asked? Maybe. But I doubt he will.”

 

“He’s too stoic,” Nautica complained. “It’s hard to know what he needs.”

 

Windblade picked up a hair tie. “I’ll figure out what I can.”

 

“Do you think he’s the type to get dark and twisty?”

 

Windblade made a face at her. “You’ve been watching too much _Grey’s Anatomy_.”

 

“But it’s true though,” Nautica protested.

 

“I will find out. He’ll be here soon, so go away and let me finish prepping.”

 

“Fine, fine.”

 

Windblade braided her hair quickly and twisted it into a bun at the nape of her neck. From there, she found her favorite flats and slipped them on, and she grabbed her bag.

 

“Percy’s here,” Nautica called, and Windblade realized Percy must have already been on his way to her for him to get there so quickly. How bad was it going to be?

 

She left the house and went down the slight incline to Percy’s tiny teal Hyundai, and when she slid into the car, Percy was gazing fixedly through the windshield, his hands tight on the steering wheel. “...Percy?”

 

Percy breathed in and out raggedly. “Skyfire. He—he came home.”

 

“Okay,” she said slowly.

 

“He told me--.”

 

“Percy.”

 

“He cheated on me,” Percy said in a rush, and he was blinking. His entire body was tense, and she was afraid to touch him. He flexed his hands on the wheel, and added, “With _Starscream_.”

 

The entire world fell away from her, and her ears started to ring. She couldn’t catch her breath, and she needed—she felt—

 

Then she looked at Percy, and how his lip was trembling, and she pushed away the sharp _hurt_ of the revelation. Someone else needed her, and her emotions didn’t matter. She laid a hand on Percy’s arm, and he immediately collapsed. He covered his face with his hands, and—only in movies did people cry prettily. Percy didn’t weep loudly, but he sniffed and coughed his way through his breakdown, and Windblade was grateful for the napkins she found under the armrest. “Percy, you want me to drive?”

 

He paused, and then he nodded. It was a little awkward maneuvering him to the passenger side of the car, but once he was strapped in, she turned the engine over and just started driving aimlessly. He wasn’t ready to be around other people yet, but the motion of the car would soothing. She hoped.

 

When he started to calm down, she asked quietly, “What _happened_?”

 

“Sk-Skyfire came home and apologized. I d-didn’t know wha-at for, and then he expl-ained.” Percy breathed in deeply and continued in something a little closer to his usual voice. “I informed him he was sleeping on the couch until further notice.”

 

“Well, obviously.”

 

“We talked about it this morning, and—apparently Starscream made him feel wanted, which I hadn’t, and from the way he made it sound, it was inevitable.” Percy scowled briefly. “He deliberately slept w-with Starscream to _hurt_ me.”

 

Windblade passed him another napkin, and Percy blew his nose. “I haven’t decided what to do with this yet,” Percy admitted after a moment. “I threw him out, but I’ve been finding it difficult to decide anything since I haven’t been able to stop crying, you see.”

 

She reached out to squeeze his thigh. “I’m going to stop by the Twisty Treat drive-through, what do you want?”

 

“W-what?”

 

“Ice cream is a tried and true method of dealing with things,” she said, looking over at him, “and you’re not ready to go into a restaurant yet.”

 

He was quiet for a moment. “I rather like peach frozen yogurt,” he admitted.

 

“Peach fro-yo it is.”

 

Percy managed to catch his breath while Windblade pulled through the Twisty Treat drive-through and then parked. They ate their dessert silently, Percy with his fro-yo and Windblade with Dutch chocolate ice cream, and once they finished, she asked, “Do we hate him?”

 

“W-what?”

 

“Skyfire. Do we hate him? Because I will, if that’s what you want.”

 

Percy daubed at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know yet.” He sighed. “You’d think I would know, but...I don’t know. You want to know what I finally realized, after we talked a few weeks ago?”

 

“What?” Windblade wiped off her fingers.

 

“I don’t think we’re going to last long past graduation. I realized that, and it just about killed me, because we managed to survive as a long-distance couple for six months—the only way I could have been farther away was if I had been in a different _hemisphere_. Of course we would last past graduation, right?”

 

“Except that you were coming back,” Windblade said quietly.

 

“Except that I was coming back, and we want to go in two separate directions. He’s thinking about enlisting in the Air Force, did you know that? He hasn’t been talking about it, but I’ve been getting more military ads than I had been, so I checked my history, and surprise, surprise, he used my laptop to look it up.”

 

“Why—your laptop?”

 

“His was debugging, and I told him he could use mine. He’s the last person I would ever think of enlisting, and god, I know I am British and therefore I have nothing to say, but your military is _terrible_.”

 

Windblade held up her hands. “No argument here.”

 

“But even without that being a factor, I just—I’m interested in science for itself, and he guides his research along practical lines, where I go where the science takes me and I’ll see if it’s practical later. I love him, but it’s not enough. Not if we’re headed to two fundamentally different places.”

 

“Are you in the same place right now?”

 

“I believe so.”

 

“I’m usually the last person to argue for this,” she sighed, “but are you happy with him? When your mind isn’t turning in circles?”

 

“I—yes. Mostly.”

 

“Is that enough? To be happy with him for now? If it’s not, then yes, break it off, but if it’s worth it to be happy, even just for this, just be...happy in the moment.”

 

“I don’t know if it’s enough. Not after this. This is a very--.”

 

“I get it. Percy, do you want me to stay over tonight?”

 

Percy searched for the last of the fro-yo with the tip of his spoon. “Why?”

 

“Just in case you don’t want to be alone tonight.” She squeezed his arm, and he looked at her with such...her heart broke for him.

 

“Yeah, that would be—that would be nice.”

 

“Let me pick up some clothes, okay?”

 

He nodded. “That’s fine.”

 

“Okay. Let’s go back to my home, and then I’ll go back to your place.”

 

“Thank you—very much.”

 

She smiled at him. “No big.”

  
He shook his head. "It very much is."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://abc.go.com/shows/greys-anatomy/video/most-recent/VDKA0_59zi26wx) video is what inspired Percy and Windblade's conversation. 
> 
> I also remember when the DJD-centric MTMTE issue came out and someone on Tumblr called Tarn a walking trigger warning. That amused and horrified me at the same time--I will be the first to admit that I'm not the biggest DJD fan--and so it behooved me to include that here. I'm not a poli-sci major (well, not anymore), but even in my current program, which is more socially progressive than most (in...some regards), we still have fights about trigger warnings all the time, so I figure it would be similar in poli-sci.
> 
> EDIT: Upon consultation of my calendar, since this takes place starting in September 2016, I realized my count of the weeks was thrown off, so you may see that there are changes to the countdown clock. My apologies; I have issues with math.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is the recipe Windblade is using](http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/homemade-cinnamon-bread/), though with my chef's hat on I really have to say that the Pioneer Woman (who somehow got a whole show on Food Network??????) uses way too much salt. Seriously, y'all. Don't put salt in what you're baking _and_ use salted butter. 
> 
> I know this chapter is a little behind my regular schedule, but life happened. Work and--well, at least I didn't have a recurrence of food-based illness. I _still_ don't recommend that.
> 
> Face claims! [Mixmaster](http://garcesgroup.com/images/uploads/cyclers/Headshot_DK_1269_682x434.jpg), [Scrapper, and ](http://waytofamous.com/images/carlos-alazraqui-05.jpg)[Hook](http://www.tvweek.com/blogs/tvbizwire/jimmy%20smits-sons%20of%20anarchy%202.jpg). For brief backstory, Scrapper's the oldest, Mixmaster is the classic middle child, and Hook is the baby. Scrapper works in construction and Hook's a surgeon, which is why they are both more visibly aged than their brother. 
> 
> And we finally have [Tarn](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CAMUzpMETBQ/VA9DOdNwr2I/AAAAAAAAE0I/E9yq7j6niak/s1600/114678-adam-driver.jpg). I think Adam Driver has a lovely voice, and he's tall enough to loom over most anyone (fun fact, Daisy Ridley is 5'7, I think the shortest out of the entire TFA cast is Carrie Fisher).
> 
> This chapter covers the second and third week of October.

**CHAPTER THREE: THE SKY'S THE LIMIT**

 

_12 Weeks Down_

 

“Good afternoon, you've reached La Casa de Mixmaster. I'm Mixmaster, head chef and restaurant owner, how can I help you today?”

“Hi, Mixmaster,” Starscream sighed. “It’s Starscream. I need to set up a reservation?”

“¡Starscream! ¿Cómo estas?”

“Not too bad. But a reservation…?" 

“¡Si! ¿Qué día de la semana le gustaría reservar?” Mixmaster spoke Spanish only to Starscream, in the hopes that one day Starscream would be fluent. Starscream didn’t think that day would ever come, but he could at least follow along. Admittedly, it helped because Mixmaster didn’t speak as quickly as he would have with his brothers. When they all got going, he was lucky to catch one word in ten.

“Sunday, I think, around 7. My, um, companion has some severe allergies though, is that going to be okay?”

“¿Quieres que el menú?” 

“Yes. She--are you taking notes?” 

“Si.”

“Her allergies are shellfish, tree nuts, and peanuts.”

“¡Oh, no!” Mixmaster groaned. “Mi ceviche es muy delicioso, con los camarónes y las veneras.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, your ceviche is famous for its shrimp and scallops,  but don’t you think you could adjust it? Consider it a challenge.” Starscream was impish; he could usually judge how far he could go with Mixmaster. Hook was a different case; he had  _never_ seen the man smile. 

“Supongo…” Mixmaster drawled. “Bueno. El primer curso será la ceviche. El segundo curso es...los enchiladas con salsa verde ¿si?” 

“Sounds good. I was thinking about 5 courses maybe?" 

“Cinco es bien numero. El tercer es…” 

“Tell you what--surprise me. I just don’t want her allergies triggered. They’re very sensitive, and they can be triggered even with contact contamination.” 

“Starscream,” Mixmaster said seriously, “Prometo los cursos no lo hará los mariscos y los nueces. Su compañera es seguro en mi restaurante. ¿Quieres mi flan?” 

“Yes _please_.” Starscream cleared his throat. It was good that Mixmaster promised Windblade would be safe. “Always.” 

Mixmaster chuckled. “Prometo que lo haré trabajar en el menú. Llamas el restaurante más tarde en la semana a verificar por segunda vez la menú ¿por favor? 

“Yes, yes. I'll call you on Thursday to confirm." Starscream shrugged, and then remembered Mixmaster couldn't see it. "Thank you, Mixmaster." 

Mixmaster paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was a little wobbly. “De nada.”

\--

Windblade stared at the components she had assembled on the counter. Cinnamon, check. Yeast, check. Melted butter, check. Milk, check. Brown sugar, flour, baking powder, vanilla, oil--all there. She nodded to herself and stepped forward, and she started with putting the yeast in the milk and melted butter. It would feed off the sugar in the milk and rise, and in the meantime, she started to mix the sugar and the eggs. 

Making bread didn’t call for absolute mental attention, and her mind flashed--like it had been all week--to Percy, and Skyfire, and that whole _mess_. The sting of hurt hadn’t faded, even though she wasn’t entirely sure why she was hurting. Starscream was his own man, they had not made any promises to each other, and they certainly weren’t together. So why did it hurt so badly? 

She added the yeast mixture to her creamed eggs/sugar, and mixed it in carefully with flour and salt. _Some_ people believed in using salted butter _and_ salt; she did not. Whenever she baked, she always used unsalted butter, so that she could better control the salt element. 

It resembled batter by the time it was fully mixed, and she turned off the hand mixer to scrape down the sides. She added the rest of the flour and mixed it in, and then it was time to knead it.

The bowl that the bread would rise in was already prepared, and she could have used the dough hook, but she needed to knead the bread. It would help. 

As she took it out and put it on the floured parchment paper, her mind went back to the topic it had been relentlessly chasing. Why _did_ it hurt so badly? She was not the intended target--though that thought had some meat to it, but she needed to put it aside for the moment--nor likely was she even a thought to the action itself, at least on Starscream’s part (Skyfire she wasn’t sure of). She squeezed the dough in her hands restlessly, and she tried to find that one missing link.

The dough was ready, and she plopped it into the bowl and tossed it with the canola oil, and once it was all set to go, she drew a sheet of plastic wrap over the bowl and went to the sink. The bread would rise for the next two hours or so, plenty of time for her to get some work done. She scrubbed dough from her hands and from underneath her short nails, and she hit on something that felt a little right. 

She had thought Starscream would be better than that. Not that he...she reorganized the thought and found a better way to put it. She didn’t expect him to be better, but she expected him to be able to see that it was so clearly a manipulation. It hurt her, because in the deep dark place she kept her ego, because it meant that whatever he felt for her, it wasn’t strong enough to outweigh against Skyfire. 

It was petty, and she had no desire to get between him and Skyfire, but she wished their--hers and his--relationship was stronger. There, that didn’t sound quite so awful. She would never discuss it with him, but that sting of hurt came from--what, failed monogamy? Was that fair? Did it have to be? 

She dried her hands and frowned. She had never been interested in examining the depths of Skyfire’s relationship with Starscream; they were best friends and that was all she needed to know. But even though you could count on Starscream seizing opportunities to be an asshole, there was something about the story Skyfire told Percy that didn’t quite fit. 

She knew she was looking for a way to blame Skyfire instead of Starscream, but maybe he was where the blame belonged. No, scratch that, he _was_ where the blame belonged, but she wanted to know more about Starscream’s part in it, even if it would hurt. Maybe that would settle it for her--whether Starscream was worth wanting and...cultivating, she supposed. If there was more to the story than Skyfire had told. If there was more to the story that Skyfire had wanted to keep hidden. 

The secret petty part of her--that petty part of her that had lately been talking more-- _wanted_ there to be something that Skyfire was hiding. She knew what thought process was going through her head; she had hit the rationalizing part of the hurting process. If Skyfire had, oh, done something, or contributed more than he had implied to Percy, then it would be all right. She wasn’t comfortable with him. If Starscream had taken advantage, the way Skyfire had insinuated, then… 

She didn’t know what she would do then, but she had the nagging sense she might forgive Starscream anyway. She snorted at the thought--as though it was her forgiveness he would require. 

No, it was something Percy and Starscream would have to work out for themselves. It wasn’t up to her. 

\--

The Friday before his planned date with Windblade (but he hadn't asked her yet) found Starscream stared at star charts without really looking at him. His dorm life, normally tolerable, had become uncomfortable and tense with Skyfire’s unofficial move-in while he looked for a sublet. Thundercracker wasn’t speaking to him—but then again, Thundercracker knew Percy outside of the Skyfire-Percy relationship—and Skywarp seemed blissfully oblivious, but it left Starscream with a knotted stomach and fractured sleep.

Something was wrong, but he couldn’t define what it was.

He wanted his life to go back to where it had been—Skyfire living elsewhere, Thundercracker talking to him, and quietly flirting with Windblade. All three of those things had disappeared since he had crossed that line, but he didn’t know how to make his life better. He had the feeling it required time...or talking to Megatron, but that involved admitting he did the thing that Megatron had warned him not to do years ago, which was to misuse his dick.

He heard the lab door open, and he flinched slightly before he resettled against his chair. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to Skyfire at the moment.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and it was too small to be Skyfire’s, and he looked up and over his shoulder at Windblade instinctively. He wasn’t expecting her eyes to be as soft and—fond as they were, and when she didn’t speak, he hesitated before leaning his cheek against the top of her hand. It was the most physical comfort he had had in a week, and he didn’t want to let it go.

Her other hand came up and cupped his cheek, and he closed his eyes. “Am I dreaming? I know I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“No, I’m real,” she answered, and he picked his head up. “I need you.”

“You...do?”

She smiled impishly. “Mind out of the gutter, Star.” She flicked the tip of his nose, and he frowned slightly. “I need your car. I need to go monster shopping.”

“Monster shopping.”

“Yeah, monster shopping. You’re welcome to come along, I’ll fix you lunch.”

“Oh, I’m welcome to tag along in a jaunt in _my own car._ ”

“Yep,” she chirped, and damnit, he could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He hadn’t expected her to be cheerful, and he could feel hope rising. Maybe they would make it to dinner on Sunday after all.

“Fine, it’s not like I’ve anything better to do.” He stood up, and she tucked her hands in her skirt pockets. “What the hell is monster shopping?”

“It’s when you have to buy a shit-ton of groceries at one time,” she tucked her hand inside the crook of his arm. “I somehow managed to run out of flour, sugar, butter, eggs, and some others. I have my list, but I need them before tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?”

“I’m teaching Percy how to make gingerbread. He swears by his mother’s, and I’m pretty sure mine is better.”

His mind stalled. “You’re...hanging out with Percy?”

“I’ve been minding him for the last week, yes.”

“Do you—is he--?”

“Are you actually thinking about whether he’s okay?”

He flinched. “You’re mad.”

She flicked her braid over her shoulder, but he took heart at the fact that she didn’t remove her hand from his arm. “Mad at Skyfire. I’m disappointed in you.”

“I—would’ve thought you were...well.”

“I was, at first,” she admitted. “Then, as Percy told me what happened, I realized that whatever had happened, you were trying to support a friend, and I don’t have any claim on you. It’s not like we’re together.”

_But we could be_. “Percy told you?”

“Yeah, he needs a friend right now, so I stepped in. You seem a little shell-shocked.”

“Skyfire’s main complaint was that Percy wasn’t talking to him.”

Windblade made a noise, and he started when he realized she was scoffing. “He wasn’t talking to Percy either, but we’re not here to fight their battles for them.”

He found his keys in his pocket and unlocked the doors. He held open her door for her, and she slid inside. Once he got in, he looked over at her. “What do you mean, he wasn’t talking to Percy?” He held up a hand when she narrowed her eyes. “I’m not wanting to fight their battles. Skyfire told me how he was dealing, and now I’m in the middle of it whether I want to or not, so you might as well tell me.”

She sighed. “Percy’s an introvert. He lives in his head most of the time. He was struggling to adjust to having another person in his space, and he didn’t want to explain anything until he had his thoughts in order, because he didn’t want to be needlessly cruel.”

“He was cruel anyway.”

“Maybe, but—I get that need to sit on a thought until you fully understand it, no matter how you turn it around. What happened between you and Skyfire?”

He frowned at the red light. “Skyfire was angry, you know. About that every time he tried to talk to Percy about what was going on, there was some kind of boundary shift and he hates to have the rug pulled out from under his feet. When he’s that kind of angry, there’s one way I know of that can calm him down, it kind of—gives him a target, almost.”

Windblade frowned. “Did he--?”

“No! _God_ , no. I like it like that, sometimes. Skyfire’s one of the few who can overpower me, and that’s great, I love it. Sometimes. When I need it. So I could see he was that mad, and I offered him a target. No, that’s not the right word. I offered him a constructive way to use it, and he knew it would hurt Percy, but he was angry enough not to care anymore. His anger’s like that. If he was ever pushed that far, he doesn’t care about the collateral damage in the moment. So we...did it, and then he felt really bad once the dust settled, and he scampered off to go apologize to Percy. He’s a good person, Windblade. I know you don’t like him, but he’s a good person, he cares about other people. If he didn’t—Percy would never have known, and he chose to tell.”

When he looked at her, he saw she had her lips pursed. “What?” he demanded, flipping the bird at some old woman while he parked his car.

“I just want to make sure I understand. How do you know when he needs it?”

That was _not_ the question he expected her to ask. “He has this—look. Where are we starting?”

She hummed as she snagged a cart. She looked at him, and with a grumble, he stepped up to drive it. “Flour and sugar, I think. Chicken’s on sale, so I want to stock up on it, but I want to save the cold stuff until after I’ve found all my dry food.”

“Fair enough.” The baking aisle was close to the front door, so he pushed the cart over to it. It was midmorning on a Friday, and the store was a little busier than he expected, but nothing like the Great Grocery Rush of Saturday and Sunday. “Yeah, he has a look, and when I saw it, I knew what he needed.”

“Not what he wanted?” she inquired, putting her hand on the front of the cart to stop him. He stopped, and she leaned on her tiptoes to examine the cornstarch on the top shelf.

“He doesn’t ask for that kind of thing.”

“But he trusts that you know what he needs?”

He frowned at her as she found cornstarch and put it in the cart. “You’re going somewhere with this.”

“Gee, do you think?” She knelt down to examine the flour. “I think if he hadn’t given you that look, you would _never_ have offered. And I think he knew that.”

Irritation was prickling across his skin, and he moved from behind the cart to stand beside her so he could loom. “That’s presuming he’s manipulative.”

She snorted. “He is.”

“No, he’s _not_.”

She tilted her head back to look up at him. “Answer me this, then. If he hadn’t looked the way he did, _would_ you have offered?”

“Well, no, but he’s not that--.”

“What, observant? He’s worked with you for years. I’d say he knows you pretty well by now. It’s why you feel guilty. Help me up.”

He hauled her upright, and she placed the large bag of flour in the cart and started off down the aisle. He trailed after her, head whirling. “I do not feel _guilty_.”

“You flinched when I entered your lab, but you didn’t turn around to see who it was. You thought you knew who had come in, and there are only a few options for who it was, and I wasn’t on that list. Plus, from the little I’ve picked up from Percy, it seems like you haven’t been speaking to anybody this week.”

“More like they haven’t been speaking to _me._ ”

“Right, because you’re totally passive when it comes to situations you don’t like.” She turned to look at him, and her mouth was soft. “You don’t have to admit to anything, but I think you feel guilty, because somewhere in that heart of yours, you realize you were used, and you hate that you didn’t see it earlier.”

He abandoned the cart to go loom over her again. She looked unintimidated, damn her. “That is _not_ my problem.”

She tilted her head to the side. “So what is?”

“I’m an easy one to blame. Skyfire’s better than me, we all know that, and he’s not capable of what you say he is, and whatever I feel, I _feel_ that I contributed to a situation that I wasn’t fully aware of all the complications.”

“Oh Starscream,” her voice was as soft as her mouth, “you realize what you just admitted?”

He backtracked and rewound his statement in his head. “I—you--.”

“You got used,” she said, “and you don’t like that it was Skyfire who did it because he used you to hurt someone else. You still had a part to play in this, but...there’s more to it.”

“Do you need to believe that in order to justify your closeness to me after all of this?”

She rolled her eyes at him and went over to study the brown sugar. “You only lash out at me like that when I’m right and you don’t want to admit it. Here, grab this.”

Instinctively, he reached his hands out for the large bag of dark brown sugar, and he placed it in the cart. She laid a bag of light brown sugar on top of it, and reached into her pocket for her list.

She was silent as she consulted her list, and he was grateful for the quiet. Why was it that it was always her who called him out on his bullshit in the ways he couldn’t form a response to?

“Where to next?”

She looked up at him. “Bread. We need bread and jam.”

“Okay.” He pushed the cart forward, and she fell into step with him easily. She still seemed cheerful, but she had dimmed a little. “Why do you care?” he asked abruptly as they turned the corner. “We’re not even together, so why do you care?”

She looked at him, startled. “I still care about _you_ , Star. Are you questioning that?”

“Not anymore,” he muttered.

She sighed. “Percy’s story seemed off, but not on his end. And--,” she wet her lips with a quick dart of her tongue, and she looked away from him. “Never mind.”

“Windblade--.”

“Nautica asked for Nutella, but I’m worried about cross-contamination,” she mused, neatly sidestepping his grab for her arm. “But jam should be all right, I think.” She picked up a jar to examine the ingredients, and he decided not to push it.

He still had to ask about Sunday, after all.

“How is Percy?”

“Coping. He’s reached the anger stage. I think he would love nothing more than to have it out with Skyfire, but he also recognizes it’s not for the best right now. So that’s why I’m trying to get him to channel that into something else, and the nice thing about baking is that you get to eat the results.” She turned to put the jam down, and she looked at him. “Since when do you care about Percy?”

“I don’t, but this wasn’t the most efficient way to hurt him.”

“Not the most...okay then. I didn’t think you had that kind of active maliciousness toward him.”

“I don’t, which is why I haven’t hurt him before this.”

“Thank Solus for small mercies, then.” She went down the aisle in search of the bread. From the set of her shoulders, he saw that she was angry, and he wondered if she finally understood that he wasn’t the good person she clearly thought he was. Just as he thought she had dropped the subject, she whirled on him. “Do you have to make people believe you’re actually the worst, or is it just easier? If everyone expects the worst from you, then they’re never disappointed, right?”

“That’s exactly right.”

The fight drained from her and left a crushing sadness in her eyes. He didn’t like it—he could handle Windblade feisty and angry with him. Windblade being sad at him—sad _over_ him—was harder to handle. He watched her with confusion as she approached him, and he started when she curled her hand over his cheek. She leaned up on her tiptoes—he braced himself—and she pressed her lips to his.

He was hyperaware of the mom with two shrieking children down the aisle, and the grumpy grandmother muttering over the sugar free jam. Normally, that would have been exactly the type of audience she hated, so he knew that she was not only kissing him, but she was kissing him as a Gesture.

His hand curled around her hip and pulled her closer. He had missed the softness of her body against his.

She pulled away from his mouth, but she didn’t step outside of his space. “You are not the Grinch,” she said.

“No, my heart’s the right size.”

She pressed her lips together, but her eyes lit up with amusement, so he took the win. “It doesn’t hurt to act like it sometimes,” she pointed out. “Are you sorry?”

He rolled his eyes and stared over her shoulder for a moment and then met her eyes again. “A little. The longer everything goes without being fixed, the worse I feel, actually.”

Her lips quirked into a slight smile. “I’m thinking of hosting a dinner party in a few weeks. If things start to right themselves a little bit more.”

“You’d invite everybody?”

“Well, maybe not Skyfire. Percy may be working on forgiving him, but I certainly don’t owe _him_ that.” She turned away from him to wander on down the aisle. “But yes, everyone else would be welcome at my table. Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“You think me and Percy could be in the same room right now?”

“You might’ve noticed that I said _in a few weeks_. Percy disregarded your...contribution almost right away. He saw that Skyfire wanted to hurt him, and you would be the best way to do it."

“I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Not everyone holds grudges.” She led him to the pasta aisle. “But for right now, I’d keep the two of you separated.”

“Probably a good idea.” He leaned his elbows on the cart handle and trailed after her. “Did you really drag me along on this shopping trip to talk this out with me?”

“Pretty much,” she shrugged. “You have to admit, it’s more comfortable doing it this way than sitting down and doing it.”

“I can tell you that you have fascinating grocery habits.”

“I love to go grocery shopping,” she confided as she found the boxes of dried pasta. “It’s so...I don’t know, intimate.”

“It’s not intimate.”

“Oh, it is. You’re seeing what’s going to make up the contents of my pantry. There are few things more intimate than that.”

“I miss them,” he said, wistful.

“I know.” They shared a look of commiseration, and his eyes widened when she winked at him. “But this will hold for now.”

“For now?”

He was rewarded by her flush, and it made him bold. “It was a s-slip of the tongue,” she stammered, and then she looked like she wanted to die.

Of course, he _had_ to follow up on such an obvious innuendo. “You know, _I_ could really go a slip...of the tongue.”

She reached out and shoved his shoulder, but she was giggling slightly. “Stop it, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“No, it’s never what you mean, until it is,” he sighed in his most professional long-suffering manner, and she pressed her lips together again to hold back the giggles. “But I do have a question for you, actually.”

“And that is...?”

“Would you like to go to dinner on Sunday? There’s a place I know in Charleston that’s right on the waterfront, and the food is really good. No allergic triggers, I promise.” Mixmaster had promised, and they had gone over the menu yesterday.

She tilted her head. “And the purpose of this is...?”

“I think we need to talk through some things,” he said, grudgingly. “And it’ll be neutral ground, over food. Didn’t you tell me once to have hard discussions over food?”

Her shoulders slumped, just a little. “I did, didn’t I. All right, Sunday. Dress code?”

“Dress nice. It’s a nice restaurant.”

“And who’s paying?”

“I am,” he said instantly. He had already paid, actually. Mixmaster didn’t book the best table and go over the menu in excruciating detail without being paid beforehand with a hefty bonus attached.

“All right,” she said, “but I’m paying for dessert elsewhere.”

“That’s doable.” They were supposed to share a piece of flan, but he supposed that he could badger Mixmaster into a slightly smaller piece of flan and then Mixmaster’s restaurant backed up onto the beach, so they could walk the beach for awhile before moving on to _real_ dessert. “I’ll pick you up at 7?”

“Sounds good.” She gave him a real smile, however small, and her back straightened again. “But we really do need to finish the grocery shopping.”

“Bring it on,” he sighed.

\--

“Do you think this is too much?”

Chromia gave her a critical look-over. “ _I_ still think the world’s going to end because you’re not wearing your signature color.”

“I wear plenty of blue,” Windblade fussed as she fiddled with how the skirt draped against her legs.

“Not _that_ shade of blue. You never wear periwinkle, what gives?”

“Optimus told me we’re presenting our research in a few weeks and that I should probably get a nice dress. I thought this dress was lovely, and since Optimus will almost certainly be wearing navy, it would go well together.”

“Navy and scarlet also go well together.”

“It’s too much of a power color for that crowd.”

Chromia humphed and looked back down at her tablet. “You look very pretty,” she allowed. “Even if you look better in gold than in silver.”

“Gold doesn’t go with the dress,” Windblade said patiently.

The dinner date was a test-run for the dress. It had two thick straps that came across the edge of her shoulders—almost diagonal against her shoulders, but not quite—and the neckline was straight. The bodice was tight until it reached her hips, and then it flared out just past her knees. The tags had said it was tea-length, and she paired it with a dark blue shrug. If it was comfortable through dinner, it would be comfortable for a research reception.

Even if it wasn’t, she would still keep the dress. She loved how it clung to her hips. She didn’t normally fuss with how her clothes made her feel—she was objectively aware that she was attractive, and she liked how wearing a bright red lip stain made her look—but she _felt_ beautiful, and she wanted that extra pinch of confidence for a dinner that had an uncertain outcome.

“My word, Windblade,” Nautica hollered in an exaggerated Georgian accent, “I do declare your gentleman caller has arrived.”

Windblade felt a rise of the giggles, and she decided to play along as she slipped her feet into her heels. “A gentleman caller? My dear Nautica, I will need you to be a little more clear. I’m not certain I know any gentlemen.”

Chromia snorted, and as Windblade rounded the corner, Starscream looked long-suffering. “That wasn’t necessary,” he complained, and her stomach fluttered as she got a good look at him. He wasn’t wearing black, but instead a grey suit with a scarlet shirt, probably silk. The black she had been expecting came from his tie, a skinny thing that she wanted to tug on so that she could--.

On his part, she saw how his eyes widened, and that pinch of confidence became a full shove. Her shoulders straightened, and she adjusted her wrap with nervous fingers. “Well?”

“I—you,” he cleared his throat, and she fought another tide of giggles, “It’s acceptable.”

Windblade rolled her eyes, and behind him, Nautica was doing the same thing. “Oh good, I’m passable,” she snarked as she found her clutch.

“ _Slightly_ more than passable,” Starscream allowed. “Are you ready?”

She checked her hair in the mirror by the door. “Now I am.”

“Oh good.” Starscream glanced at her roommates, both alight with anticipation in their own ways. Chromia’s eyes hadn’t moved along her tablet screen, and Nautica was bouncing slightly. “Don’t wait up, you two.”

Chromia choked and Nautica burst out laughing, and Windblade’s cheeks flared scarlet. As if they would really--! She turned to better look at the both of them and pursed her lips. “I don’t want to have to pick out undergarments from the couch. _Again_. Have some circumspection, please.”

It was Nautica’s turn to sputter and turn red, but Chromia winked at her over the edge of her tablet. “Have fun,” she said, and Windblade relaxed slightly. That was as good as a blessing that Chromia would ever give.

“If you don’t _mind..._?”

Right, Starscream. “After you, my darling,” Windblade told him, putting on her exaggerated accent. He blinked twice, discombobulated, and then he opened the screen door for her.

As they left town and got onto the highway, he finally broke the silence. “’My darling’?”

She shrugged, adjusting her shawl so that it rested on her shoulders. “You’re objecting?”

“Less if it was true.”

“You called me sweetheart,” she pointed out with a failed attempt at ignoring how her heart wrenched. “We’re not much for endearments, you and I, except for when...”

“Except for when it matters, and you teasing me is enough.”

“Yes.”

He sighed, and her heart twisted again. “When did the cracks in our relationship first start to show?”

“I think it was before we were even together,” she said slowly. “I needed—need—independence, and I didn’t know how to reconcile your everything with my independence.”

“And I pushed you too hard,” she was startled at how frankly he admitted wrongdoing. When did he learn self-reflection? “I wanted you to make space for me at my speed, not at yours.”

“I’m more guarded than I need to be,” she replied. “But part of me was still terrified of giving up my secrets to you, because I wasn’t sure if they would be safe.”

“Why are you so terrified?”

She could have deflected—he probably would have let her—but for whatever was between them to work, someone needed to cross that boundary. “I’m terrified of you using my secrets against me whenever we fight because it’ll grant you some scrap of ground that you wouldn’t have had otherwise.”

“...fair.”

“And you?”

“My history isn’t very interesting,” he shrugged. “My parents were the worst, Megatron was a much better parental figure, even if he messes up occasionally, but...I don’t like it when you prod too much into my motivations. I’ve already accepted that I’m not a good person, and I don’t like that you’re trying to make me one.”

“I’m not trying to make you one,” she said in an attempt to follow his logic. “But I guess, from where it looks to me, that you _do_ have something of a positive bent, as it were, but you hide it with how it suits you. Maybe it does, but I think that’s not always why you do it.”

“That’s true.” He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as they waited at the red light. “But I don’t want people to know which is which, because then--.”

“You have expectations placed upon you.”

“Yep.”

“You know, for someone who aspires to be a politician, having people trust that you do the right thing for the right reasons even occasionally isn’t a bad thing.” She reached out to poke his arm playfully, and he batted at her.

“I’m allowed to have private acts and private impulses,” he grumbled, taking the turn for Charleston.

“You want to get elected,” she needled, “there’s no such thing as privacy for an elected official, not even for death or injury in the family.”

“I knooooooooooow.” He rolled his eyes at her. “Megatron told me to find a few issues and stake out my opinion on them, and hold to it.”

“Sounds about right.” She stretched out her legs and wiggled her toes in her heels. She noticed Starscream’s eyes drifting to her legs, and she stretched them _just_ a little more, delighting in the attention. “Where do you think we broke the worst?”

The obvious answer was her allergic reaction, but she knew—and suspected he knew—that that had been the result of their strain, not the cause of it. “I don’t know, I don’t do the introspection thing that girls do.”

She would needle the hell out of him later for that. “I know what my main issue was, and it had nothing to do with you, but every time you messed up, it just magnified it, so I think it was the culmination of a lot of little things over time.”

“That sounds correct.” Traffic slowed to a crawl as they approached the waterfront, and she checked the time anxiously. “So what was it?”

“What was what?”

“Your main issue.”

It _would_ come to that. “I’m—I don’t—I’m...”

The restaurant they were going to was bright and crowded, and Starscream swore to himself as he hunted for a parking space. It was an adequate distraction, and she quieted to spare his concentration. He found one, and she readjusted her shrug as she exited the vehicle.

He surprised her by offering his hand, and while she didn’t think anything to slipping her hand around his arm, holding hands was far more intimate. She took his hand, and her skin fizzed as he tightened his grip on her hand and tugged her along. She held onto her clutch as he shouldered through the crowd in the foyer of the restaurant, and when he got the maitre’d, the guy beamed at them. “Buenos noches, bienvenidos en la casa de--.”

“Save it,” Starscream interrupted. “We have a reservation.”

The maitre’d’s smile faltered by a few watts. “Name?”

“Starscream, party of two.”

“Star—yes, Chef Mixmaster put down some special orders. If you’ll follow me?”

“Special orders?” she murmured to him as the maitre’d led them through the bustling restaurant to the back, where there were alcoves and small tables tucked into them. The maitre’d seated them at one of the more private tables, and Starscream looked at her as they sat down.

“You have some allergies, remember? I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Windblade thanked the maitre’d with a smile as he left, and then she looked at Starscream with a slightly furrowed brow. “Menus?”

“Taken care of,” he waved a hand. “We were talking about something else.”

“This wasn’t a spur of the moment invitation, was it,” she sighed, but thought about how best to phrase it. “I’ve always struggled with—well, that is to say--.”

She was interrupted by a waiter, who placed down two cocktails with a flourish. “Good evening, good evening!” the waiter enthused, “These cocktails are compliments of the chef, our bar’s famous lime margaritas. They are made with lime juice, freshly squeezed, agave syrup, a shot of tequila and a shot of lime liquor. They’re rimmed with citrus salt, and garnished with candied lime. Now that the chef has been alerted that you’re here, your first course is on the way.”

She stared at him meaningfully as the waiter bounced away. “First course.”

“It’ll be good.” He picked up his margarita and sipped it. “ _Wow_ , that’s strong. Well, you might enjoy it more. Continue.”

She traced her fingertips through the condensation on the glass and tried to find her train of thought again. “When my mother came to visit in March, she said a few things.”

“She said a lot of things.”

“Yeah, she—she does that. But she noted how I’m rarely openly affectionate, and while most of the reasoning for that is based on the limits I draw between my public and private selves, there’s also something else.” She sipped her margarita, and wasn’t expecting how _sour_ it was. It was good.

“And that is...?” He was intent on her answer, and she swallowed hard.

“I struggle with dealing with knowing someone loves me, because I’m never entirely sure I deserve it.”

–-

“I don’t believe he’s here to propose,” Hook announced as he stole the small bowl of guacamole when Mixmaster’s back was turned. “They are too intent, too serious.”

“No man goes to this much trouble to setting up the menu and space for his girl unless he’s going to propose,” Mixmaster argued as he turned back with a few more avocados. “Hook! Stop stealing my food!”

“It’s good, and I just came off a thirty hour shift,” Hook complained. “You have more.”

“This is the _Test Kitchen_ , I have an actual meal for you downstairs in the real kitchen!”

Hook waved him off and dipped a chip into the guacamole. “Look at him, he’s scowling. A proposal is not coming.”

Mixmaster’s test kitchen and office were upstairs, but the office looked out onto the entire floor of the restaurant, and one of the screens highlighted each table in use and how many people per party at the table. Mixmaster trusted his sous chef, but if it got too busy, he would remove his ‘owner’s hat’ and put his chef’s hat back on.

The windows, however, were blacked out, so Hook could spy on Starscream and his date without any concerns. “Just because he didn’t order for the ring to be put in the flan doesn’t mean it’s not coming,” Mixmaster focused on chopping his jalapeños perfectly, “he’s not some dumb white boy who thinks that it will be _so romantic_ instead of potentially dangerous.”

“Why are they scowling, then? Answer me that!”

“Because it’s Starscream and the default expression around him is a scowl,” Scrapper let himself in, and Hook scowled at him. Of course Scrapper would enter with a one liner.

“If he’s going to propose, the least she could do was not be so repulsed in his presence to smile!” Hook persisted in his train of thought, and Scrapper helped himself to the shredded chicken waiting to be tossed with vegetables.

“A case of the good stuff on him proposing before dessert?”

“I’ll take that bet—stop eating my food!”

–-

“Wait, hold on. You really don’t think you deserve that kind of...” Starscream leaned back in his chair and picked up his margarita. “Who told you that you weren’t worth it?”

“I’m not interested in having that conversation,” Windblade said, picking up her own drink and sipped from it. “And no one did.”

“Which means it was a subtle reinforcement over time. Who was it, your mom? Did she constantly pick her religious duties over you until you pretty much decided you weren’t worth much in the grand scheme of things?”

“Congratulations, you’ve hit on the entirety of my childhood damage, please accept this drink as a prize.” She rolled her eyes at him. “No, amazingly enough. My mother always had time for me when I needed it. Some damage just happens.”

They both straightened up when the waiter returned with two small bowls. “Swordfish ceviche,” the waiter announced, “with mango, peach and banana peppers. I’ll bring you both a glass of water.”

Windblade tasted it warily, and her eyebrows went up. “It’s good.”

“Mixmaster crafted the entire menu very carefully,” Starscream informed her, flicking his fingers at the waiter, who took his leave. “He’s a friend of Megatron’s, they’ve been friends since college. I’m not entirely sure how they met, I think roommates were involved, but he moved out here about fifteen years ago, and Megatron’s been a patron of his restaurant ever since.”

“Oh, so it wasn’t as planned as it could have been. That makes me feel better.” She finished her margarita and pulled a face. That last sip was _sour_.

“He thinks I’m going to propose,” Starscream confided with a smirk.

“Oh god, please _no_.”

“Oh, definitely not.” Starscream stabbed at a piece of swordfish with his fork. “Even if I was the marrying kind, I wouldn’t propose at the reconciliation dinner.”

“Is that what you want this to be?”

“Ideally. But that depends on you.” He watched her with that unblinking stare, that stare she hated. It always made her feel like prey. “Which is why, despite everything I stand for, I am asking for us to...talk.”

He said the word ‘talk’ with such disdain she snorted. “That’s my biggest issue,” she said after the giggles cleared. “I don’t need you to tell me that you love me or anything like that, not that you’re the type to do that, but...every time you go against my boundaries in a serious way, it makes me more and more sure that I’m means to an end, and that just...” she exhaled. “I know you want to take care of me, in a sideways way, but I need you to let me decide what levels of care I want.”

“You take care of me,” he pointed out. “You never asked me what I wanted.”

She breathed in carefully, to defend herself, to say that he’d never informed her his boundaries were being encroached on, but...that wasn’t the point. She exhaled again and nodded. “That’s fair.”

He blinked twice—he had been expecting her to contest the point. “So, maybe we ask first.”

“I—yeah. Let’s do that.”

She looked down at her plate and realized she had finished her ceviche. “Is there anything else?” she wanted to know, resting her salad fork on the table. “Something you’d like to know about my inner mind workings?”

“Yeah.” Her eyes snapped up to meet his. “You clearly know or think you know where we went wrong, so what’s your guess?”

The waiter whisked away the plates and replaced it with enchiladas with salsa verde drizzled over them before she answered. “I think we jumped from being friends to lovers too quickly.”

He raised his eyebrows and sipped from his water. “That’s a problem?”

“God, no, the sex was fantastic. But we never really got a chance to move out of the ‘friends with ridiculous unresolved sexual tension’ box to the ‘established romantic partners’ box. We didn’t date, not really, so we didn’t get a chance to explore what our boundaries look like as a romantic partnership, and my mind never really got to processing you _as_ a romantic partner. As a romantic partner, you got—get—certain liberties that you as a friend don’t.”

“Things like managing your anemia?”

“Okay, no, that’s a dick move and I’d really rather you didn’t,” she pointed at him, and he smirked at her. “But...you are allowed to ask.”

He waited for her to take a bite before he asked, “So what do you suggest? For moving us out of the friend box to the romantic partners box?”

It was her turn to blink. “I’m not—actually sure, believe it or not.”

“I can believe it.”

–-

“They’re not scowling anymore,” Scrapper said triumphantly. “He _is_ here to propose.”

“They’re not touching,” Hook grumbled, helping himself to another bowl of salad.

“ _Stop eating my food!_ ”

They both ignored Mixmaster. “Look,” Hook pointed to Starscream’s pose, “he’s watching her like a hawk, but not even their feet are touching. That isn’t the behavior of a man about to propose. I don’t think that’s why they’re here.”

“Okay, genius, why are they here?”

Hook rolled his eyes at Scrapper. “Why do you want him to propose? He’s an asshole, even Megatron admits it. From what it looks that, that girl down there is easygoing enough, and you want to inflict Starscream and _matrimony_ on her?”

“He is an asshole,” Scrapper allowed, “but this is the most effort we’ve seen him commit to anything.”

“Anyone can commit to dinner,” Mixmaster dismissed, “committing to a life together is something else, and he’s not ready for that.” Mixmaster looked at the two of them. “But the question is—does _he_ know that?”

–-

All the way through courses two and three, Starscream considered Windblade. Her perception—that they added sex before they added in the corresponding romantic entanglement—seemed uncomfortably true, but he had no idea how to bring both aspects up to speed.

He sighed, and her head picked up at the small sound of irritation. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I think that up until the romantic entanglement is where we want it to be, the sex aspect needs to not to be there,” he grumbled. “Which sucks, okay?”

She chuckled, and she brushed her foot against his under the table. “I think you’re right, and maybe...maybe we should make a standing date, once a week, where we’re not talking about the drama between our friends, but we’re just....us.”

“Are you saying we can’t talk about our friends?”

“I’m not saying we can’t do things together over the week so that we can gossip together, but we need something that’s just about us.” He pressed his foot to hers, and she smiled at him. “To figure out where we are, and where we’re going. Where we’d like to be, maybe.”

“So...courtship.”

“Is that the word for it?” she made a face. “Remember, I grew up in backwoods Georgia, so courtship has a slightly different connotation.”

“Not the marrying kind, remember?” he reminded her, “But I think it’s the best option.”

“We switch off who pays,” she warned, “because this? This was ridiculous.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up into a half-smile. “Do you hate it?”

“The food’s good,” she begrudged, “but I’m a little faint at imagining the cost.”

“At the risk of sounding extraordinarily sappy,” that half-smile turned into a grimace, and she stifled another chuckle, “it’s worth it. We needed to have this conversation away from where we usually would.”

“That’s very true.”

The waiter brought the fourth course, two small tacos with a side of beans, and she groaned theatrically. “How many more are coming?” she bemoaned.

“Just this one and one more,” the waiter promised.

“Oh _good_.”

–-

Windblade wiggled her toes in the sand. “That was really good,” she admitted to Starscream as he stood on the boardwalk, watching her kick up the sand with her bare feet. She held her heels in one hand and her shrug was covering her shoulders, and the sand was cool against her feet. “Thank you.”

“You want to walk and get some ice cream?”

She was vaguely nauseated by the thought. “And ruin my taste of that excellent flan? No thank you.”

“So then...”

“We’ll do dessert later,” she informed him, walking up the slight incline to join him. “Maybe on Wednesday evening?”

“I think that would work, but I’ll need to see.” He offered her his arm, and she tucked her arm around his. “You’ll get sand up your legs.”

“That’s okay,” she brandished her hand with her heels at him. “It’s been a while since I walked a beach.”

“What about going swimming?”

She was already shaking her head. “I don’t know how to swim. I can wade, but I don’t like to be immersed above my waist.”

“You can’t...swim.”

“No, I can’t.” She tilted her head, and the roll she had tucked her hair into was beginning to come down—her hair draped against the back of her neck, and he reached over to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. He just happened to drag his fingertips against the skin behind her ear, and her breath hitched at the sparking in her sensitive skin.

He smirked, the asshole. “Why not?”

“I never learned,” she shrugged, kicking up a little sand at him. He made a face at her, and she pursed her lips in a mocking smile in response. “There was an accident, when I was a child—a local girl, she had babysat me actually, she had drowned in the local pond, and I had watched it happen. I didn’t know what I was watching, at first—I thought drowning involved a lot more splashing and screaming, but...it scared me, so I never learned.”

“...oh.”

“For years I thought there was a monster in the pond, actually,” she said. “Something that had—grabbed her, or swallowed her. I mentioned it to Nautica once, and it turned out that she’d swum out, but she was training for a swim meet or something and worked her muscles too hard, so she had a muscle cramp but was too far out to save herself, and she panicked. That just made me more determined not to learn. If I didn’t learn how to swim, then I wouldn’t be in the water and be killed by a muscle cramp.” She tucked another loose piece of hair behind her ear.

“I’ll teach you—carefully. I’ll get you matching floaties and everything.” She scowled at him, but he flashed her a genuine grin. “I like going to the beach, and I want to be okay with that _you’ll_ be okay.”

“We’ll talk about it,” she said neutrally. Hell _no_.

“Yeah.” He pulled her in a little closer when she shivered. “So what do you want for this week’s date?”

“Little early to be discussing that, don’t you think?”

“No. There’s a movie—some kind of sci-fi action film.”

She considered it. “That sounds all right. But I’m covering the dinner dessert thing!”

“Fair enough.” He was laughing at her, but he was fond.

They walked the beach a little further, and she leaned against him. When he glanced at her, she lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Now you know what I’m afraid of. Please don’t use it to hurt me.”

He looked down at her arm, and he wove their fingers together. While she watched him, he brought their hands up so that he could press a kiss to the top of her hand. “Never,” he told her, and maybe she was being foolish, but she believed him.

–-

_11 Weeks Down  
_

Percy laid his head down on his desk and contemplated the workings of the universe. Normally, the fact that the universe would continue to spin with or without his contribution was comforting, but he felt in need of more confirmation that he was important at the moment.

He idly considered calling Windblade, but she had finally given him some space, and he didn’t want to worry her. Nautica was too...bright and bouncy, and he just wanted someone to sit with him quietly.

With a pang, he realized he was missing Skyfire. The two of them could sit side by side for hours, working on their various projects, and not need to exchange a word. It wasn’t just the quiet he was missing, he missed Skyfire’s presence, the quiet strength he contained.

His lip wobbled independently of his wishes, and he resigned himself to crying. Again.

His phone chimed with a text, and he glanced at it through the mist over his eyes. It was Windblade, asking if he wanted to do dinner at her house.

Abruptly sick, he fired off a quick confirmation. He had let himself fall into the trap of being defined by one relationship, and he hated having to rebuild himself after that happened. It had happened twice before—once when he was a small child, and unaccustomed to the small, petty betrayals of children, and the second when he was in year eleven. Both times, he had had to build himself again from the ground up, and it was _horrible_.

He should have seen it coming.

His data cheeped at him, and he picked his head up to look at the computer screen. The data was finished running, and it was time for him to code it, but he wasn’t sure if he could focus on it.

He gave up. He would come in earlier the next day to make up for it.

It wasn’t until he was leaving that he was given his sign from the universe as to why his train of thought was so fractured. He closed the lab—he didn’t exactly lock the door, since it was the lab Brainstorm and Nautica also used—and he turned around, and there was Skyfire.

He blinked. “You—you’re here.”

“I am.” Skyfire looked like he wanted to die. Always a pleasant sign.

“Why are you here?”

There was a flash of hurt on Skyfire’s face before he controlled himself, and Percy felt a stab of vindictive pleasure. _He_ was hurt? _Good_. “I just...wanted to let you know I found a sublease. The girl—she’s an international student, and something went wrong at home, so she’s going home through winter break, but she needs someone to...anyway, I’ll be stopped by to grab the last of my stuff. It’s up to you whether you’re home or not.”

“I’ll be out this evening,” Percy said, just a little too stiff. “Take all the time you need.”

There was another flash of hurt in Skyfire’s eyes, but he nodded. “I understand.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Percy pushed past him, and Skyfire didn’t try to stop him. Percy was grateful for that, but there was a small something that wished that Skyfire had tried.

The campus was under siege from a bizarre weather event—it rained torrentially for a few minutes, and then cleared up. It kept repeating the cycle every few hours, and it had been like that for the past three days. One of the people on Percy’s floor had complained she had left Florida for that exact reason, how _dare_ it follow her, and he had grudgingly agreed.

It was raining then, and Percy stared in dismay at the vague teal shape that was his car in the lot. If he left right then, he would be soaked, but if he stayed, there was a chance he would run back into Skyfire, and that was the worse fate by far.

He chanced it, and made a run for it. He _was_ soaked, and he hated having water run down his collar, but it was better than facing Skyfire again.

‘ _Do we hate him?’  
_

He still didn’t have an answer. The anger had finally passed, but he was still convinced that he and Skyfire wouldn’t last past graduation, and in that case...wasn’t it better to end it now? Before the pain of that separation? Rebuilding himself took effort and time; he wasn’t sure he was up for either after he graduated.

Percy was, by nature, a cautious person, and the promise of present happiness did not outweigh future pain. Added to that, Skyfire had apologized once, during their fight, but had not bothered to talk to him about it since Percy had told him to get out.

Maybe part of that was Percy’s fault, but Skyfire could put up more of an effort.

That triggered something in his head, and Percy examined it. Maybe _Skyfire_ was trying to find out if he wanted to mend the relationship. Percy had been thinking of it in purely personal terms—what _he_ wanted, _how_ he wanted it—but relationships took two people.

What if Percy decided he was ready to give it another go, and Skyfire didn’t?

There was a stab of pain at the thought, and Percy sighed. There was a reason he tried not to get involved with people—once emotions were involved, it was harder to sort out the rational impulses. He had no objectivity, and he desperately needed some. He needed to look over the past twenty months and weigh his choice, but his emotions were getting in the way.

_Ugh_.

–-

Windblade jumped when Starscream knocked on her desk. Across the small common area, Tarn rolled his eyes and focused on his copies. For once, it was the poli-sci department’s printer that broke, not the International Relations department. “What is it?” she demanded, leaning away from her computer to glare up at him.

He brandished a sheet of paper at her, and she tried to focus on the text of it. “A dance club!”

“No, I won’t learn how to work a pole for you.”

Tarn snorted, and Starscream shot him a Look before turning back to Windblade. “No, no, it’s ballroom dancing. You appreciated the dance thing we did over the summer, right?”

She ducked her head and pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. She had never trusted him more in that moment, and she peeked up at him through her lashes. “I did,” she admitted, “I really enjoyed it.”

“So then let’s do this! This semester they’re focusing on salsa, but apparently one of the club leaders had to back out last minute with a health issue, so they weren’t able to start until now. First meeting’s tonight, I thought we could go and grab a quick bite after.”

She considered it—and her homework. She was due to finish up with Optimus in about fifteen minutes, and she was vaguely creeped out that Starscream knew her schedule _already_. And then she looked at the flier and the name of the club president--"Nope."  
  
"Why not?!"

“Have you met the club president?”

He hesitated. "...no."

“She's quite...something. I had her in a class a few semesters ago, and she ruined that class for me. Besides," she glanced up at him, "I do have homework."

“There's always homework.” He leaned across the counter, and she focused on ignoring him so that she could finish her work. “What are you working on?”

“Inputting grades, and I am almost done, so if you could...?”

He held his hands up, but he was still stretched across the top of the desk, and she blinked furiously and attempted to regain her focus. Starscream draped on top of her desk _did things_ for her, and she cleared her throat. _Please_ , Solus, don’t let her be blushing, she prayed.

When she glanced at him nervously, he was watching her and tracing his mouth with his fingers, and she swallowed hard. _Damnit_. She could feel his amusement lapping against her, and she wanted to reach across what was left of the space, twist her hand into his lapel, and drag him up to kiss him.

She elected not to, for two very simple reasons. One, she wasn’t sure she actually _could_ drag him across the desk, and number two, they weren’t ready for that. If she dragged him across the desk, sex was imminent, and she was...shy at the prospect. It didn’t matter that he had already seen her body and her various scars; she had reclaimed her body inch by inch from his casual possession, and she didn’t want to give it away when she had fought so hard for reclamation.

“Are you almost done?”

She jumped at his question, and—she was definitely blushing. “I am _working on it_. God.”

Tarn waved a hand at her as he left, and she waved back in acknowledgement. “Why are you jumping?” When she looked back at Starscream, he had wiggled further across the desk, and his fingers danced around the curl of her chin, and she jerked backward, hot with embarrassment and the beginnings of arousal. He was wearing that one red shirt that did so much for him, and she wanted—

“Starscream, I do _not_ appreciate the view.”

Windblade whimpered low in her throat and rested her forehead on the desk. Starscream attempted to jump to his feet, but misgauged the distance and ended up sliding off the desk in a heap. She could hear him squawk, and when she gazed up at Optimus, he looked amused. There were small laugh lines around his eyes, even if he wasn’t smiling, and he winked at her before stepping past Starscream for his office. “I’m almost done inputting grades,” she called after him. “Just two more to do.”

“Take your time.”

“Will he ever _not_ enjoy fucking with me?” Starscream complained as he pulled himself upright.

Windblade busied herself with the last grades to input. It helped her keep her amusement off her face. “Probably not, no.” She finished, and then turned her beam upon him, and for a moment, she saw how it threw him. Then he closed off the reaction, and leaned on his hands to stare down at her.

“Grab your stuff, and we can go do, I don't know,” he made a face, "homework stuff and food at the same time."

“Night, Optimus!” she said. "Sounds nice. On campus or off campus?" He shrugged at her, and she decided. "Off campus, that one Greek diner. I'll pay."

“Good night, Windblade.” Optimus spoke before Starscream replied, and Starscream scowled at him through the open door.  
  
"The diner sounds fine, and it's not too far from here."

"Exactly the point." They exited the social sciences building and walked in silence for a bit, and she remembered to reach out and grab his hand. He flinched, just a little, and then he let her intertwine their fingers. “The dancing we did that one night,” she said quietly, “that wasn’t the salsa, it was swing.”

“The steps are similar enough, I think.” He glanced at her. “They’re both...playful.” It felt absurd to describe either as ‘playful’, when the salsa could be highly erotic and the swing bouncy, but she understood it.

“You seem like more of a tango person.”

“Whereas you have the reserve and class of the Viennese waltz,” she felt a flare of pleasure at the compliment, but he was continuing, “And I _would_ like to learn the tango eventually, it’s so...”

“Passionate?” she suggested.

“ _Controlled_ , but...when this was brought to my attention, I looked up what the salsa looks like online, and it is...well, interesting to watch.” He shrugged. "I can show you later."

"Here we are." She slid under his arm into the diner, and she led him to a booth. He surprised her by settling in next to her, and their shoulders brushed. "So, next weekend, I'm thinking dinner party."

“Isn’t that a little soon?”

“I think Percy’s ready for socializing again, even small groups. And you and me are around too much for you two not to come across each other, so maybe...you could clear the air.” Windblade opened her menu, and he read it over her shoulder. She hummed and thought about the chicken souvlaki, but she decided pancakes were in order. 

“I won’t apologize.”

“It wouldn’t _hurt_ ,” she fussed, “but at the very least, you could treat him like he’s not someone worth hurting.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Chromia was gifted with two bottles of red wine from one of her coworkers, and I was thinking about pasta. It’s easy to make a lot of, and eating with wine around our dinner table should do.”

“You planning on inviting the entire friend group without Skyfire?” They both paused when the waiter came up, and after he left with their drink orders, she answered.

“I think I might just keep it to the science people in our group. Not that I don’t enjoy Thundercracker and Skywarp, but Percy’s more comfortable with Brainstorm and Wheeljack, but I’m open to suggestion.”

He hummed. “Thundercracker _is_ a science person, you know.”

“...true. Well, I enjoy Skywarp, mostly, so we could make it the entire friend group with Skyfire.”

“You want me to clear the air with Percy, but you don’t look to be making any progress on the ‘forgiving Skyfire’ front.”

“I’m not obligated,” she shrugged. “I’m not directly involved. I’m waiting for Skyfire to remove his head from his ass, and since he hasn’t done that, I haven’t made any progress.”

“How ruthless of you.”

“An observation or commentary?”

“A compliment, actually.” The waiter came back with their drinks, and Windblade folded her menu.

  
"Pancakes with whipped cream and powdered sugar, please."

  
"Reuben sandwich with fries."

  
The waiter left them alone, and she settled against him. His arm 'covertly' meandered to wrap around her waist, and she sighed. "I think Percy's lonely," she admitted. "He's been hanging out with us, but I think he could really use some company. I'm going to invite him over early for this dinner party, and I think--well, I hope--that he'll be okay with you. I just want him to be okay."

  
"You never stop caring for people," he fussed at her. "And if you blame your upbringing, I'm going to pinch you."

  
She shrugged. "Blame what you like. But yes, that's why I'm planning on it like this."

  
"Fine, I will--do my best to behave." They both sat upright as the waiter returned with their orders. "That's all you're going to get."

  
"I don't know why I would expect anything different," she teased, and then they fell silent to eat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love to hear from y'all, there is no such thing as a bad comment.
> 
> Writing the Mixmaster-Hook-Scrapper conversation was a treat. When I was talking to my best friend about how I was framing that whole thing, I was enjoying how Starscream and Windblade are having a SO SRS conversation, and of course, in the meantime, Mixmaster, Hook, and Scrapper are basically being brothers. 
> 
> So yes, please drop me a line there was something you particularly enjoyed. This story's a bit more organic than TTTC, as I am aware of where it's going (and what we're leading up to), but the road along the way is a bit more variable. I can't promise anything, but if there's something you particularly liked, I might be able to bring in more of it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of my favorite conversations in the whole series take place in this chapter, I am _so excited_.
> 
> Ravage's face claim is [here](http://www.essence.com/sites/default/files/images/2014/11/12/debbie-allen-center-stage_400x295_49.jpg).
> 
> This chapter covers the last three weeks of October. Trigger warning for alcohol consumption, discussion of emotional trauma and past emotional abuse.

**CHAPTER FOUR: OF ROOMS, LOCKED AND OTHERWISE**

 

_10 Weeks Down_

 

Percy stirred his drink as he watched Windblade flit from burner to burner on her stove. All of her windows were open to take advantage of the sudden cold front—it was a little early for South Carolina, mid-October, but like hell were any of them complaining—but she was still sweating.

 

The tomatoes had been roasted earlier in the day and then fed through a food processor. The other vegetables that were going into the sauce—onions, shallots, mushrooms, and he thought he saw whole cloves of garlic—were on a sheet pan in the oven, and they would be done soon. There was a small plastic box’s worth of shredded chicken on the counter, and that would be mixed into the sauce soon too.

 

“A puttanesca sauce, right?”

 

She flashed him a quick smile as she added pinches of red pepper flakes and chili powder to the sauce burbling away on the stove. “Exactly. I love the thicker tomato sauces.”

 

He had seen her feed the roasted tomatoes into the food processor. She had roasted at _least_ eighteen tomatoes, and she was still worried it wasn’t going to be enough. “So I take it you are personally offended by thin tomato sauces?”

 

“No, no,” she protested, “they have their place. Like on pizza or something, but for a meal that’s pasta alone? Yes, I like thicker sauces.”

 

“You have more feelings about food than I do,” he mused, swirling what was left of his drink and decided he wanted another one. He slid off the counter to amble over to the fridge, where there was sangria chilling.

 

She laughed at him, but he knew she wasn’t mocking him. “I’m a Southerner, remember? Food is an integral part of our emotional culture.”

 

“Plus, you’re Asian.”

 

“That too,” she agreed. “Food is very important.”

 

“Okay, question, and feel free to blame this on the fact that I’m a wee bit sloshed, but,” he refilled his cup of sangria and replaced the pitcher of sangria in the fridge, “why do you acknowledge your Southern origins more than your Asian ones?”

 

She hummed as she stirred the sauce. “It’s more obvious.”

 

He snorted, and she glanced at him, her cheeks pink. “Okay, maybe not as obvious as the fact that I’m Asian, but my grandparents immigrated here, and they did their best to assimilate into the white Southern culture they moved into. My mother grew up assimilated, and she bought into it more than her parents did. By the time I was born, my mother knew we weren’t white but she didn’t...really care.”

 

“And you? Where do you stand on that?”

 

She shifted, for the first time showing some discomfort with the topic. “I’ve wanted to kind of, um, go back to my origins, but it’s hard when there’s not much left to trace. It’s part of why I chose East Asia for my language focus, and I’ve barely scratched the surface in terms of languages. Whatever I find, it’s outside of my family now, and family is--.”

 

“A big deal in both of your cultures.” He jumped back onto the countertop. “Your mom is against this?”

 

“She hasn’t made it any easier,” the timer rang, and Windblade turned it off before retrieving the roasted vegetables from the oven. “She doesn’t really...understand why I want to do this.”

 

“And so you identify more specifically as Southern, because...?”

 

“It’s easier. I get how it works better. Caminus is a town of immigrants, but we’re not all hailing from the same culture, so it doesn’t really...help.”

 

“Southern culture is kind of ridiculous to me.”

 

“There’s a lot of contradictions in it, but I find it almost...fun, to navigate it.” She took a knife out to start mincing the roasted veggies. “You’re not necessarily _lying_ , but there’s a grey space between truth and lies.”

 

He nodded. “American culture still leaves me flummoxed at times, so navigating a contradictory cultural subset is, well, beyond me.”

 

“Southern culture is a very white culture,” she reflected. “In fact, it can--,” she was interrupted by the doorbell, and they both jumped. “Percy, can you--?”

 

“Yes.” Getting _off_ the countertop was marginally more difficult once he was on his third drink, but he managed it without stumbling too badly. Windblade was chopping—carefully—and she was watching the sauce like a hawk.

 

The main door was open, but the screen door was closed. Percy waved at Thundercracker and Skywarp, and as he pushed the screen door toward them, he saw Starscream.

 

Life stopped.

 

Starscream met his stare with surprisingly little hostility, and Thundercracker and Skywarp shouldered past them. “Starscream.”

 

“Perceptor.”

 

“I’m a little surprised she invited you.”

 

Starscream shrugged. “We both walk a community too small to ever avoid each other.”

 

Percy tilted his head. “Fair point. She’s making sauce.”

 

“I’m not surprised.”

 

“She has drinks.”

 

“Again, not surprised.” The tension between the two of them was familiar in its persistence, but there was a lack of hostility for the first time. “Anything with vodka in it?”

 

“No, wine. She has sangria in the fridge and two bottles of red wine. Nautica and Chromia are out getting dessert, they’ll be here soon.”

 

They entered the kitchen, and Thundercracker and Skywarp were lounging around the table as Windblade added dried pasta to the boiling stockpot. She looked at the two of them and smiled, and Percy had a moment where he realized she was smiling at _both_ of them. “Percy, go sit, you’re wobbling something awful,” Windblade chided.

 

“Okay.”

 

To his surprise—but not, he observed, to Thundercracker’s—he saw Starscream step into an assistance role immediately. He took over stirring the chicken into the sauce while Windblade prepared two long baguettes with butter and wrapped them in aluminum foil, and then he stepped out of the way when she needed to open the oven door—all without saying a word. Once the baguettes were in the oven, Starscream started to poke the noodles and Windblade returned to the sauce.

 

“They’re doing the creepy mind twin thing,” Chromia told him as Nautica slid into the room. Literally _slid_ —she had taken her shoes off at the door and decided to get up enough speed to be able to slide in on her socks.

 

Percy hadn’t even heard them enter. “It is certainly creepy.”

 

“You have something to say, you can say it to me,” Windblade said, distracted by Starscream’s poking of the noodles. He stepped out of the way while she checked one of the spaghetti strands, and she frowned at it before dropping it back in the water.

 

“Fine, it’s creepy that you two are apparently drift compatible and chose not to tell the rest of us.” Chromia crossed her arms.

 

Windblade and Starscream exchanged startled looks. “We’re drift compatible? Since when?”

 

“No, no, I see it, but—Chromia, where did you get the idea that _I_ would be the one in the giant robot fighting an alien monster?” Starscream put his hands on his hips, and Windblade stifled a snort behind her hand. “I would _not_ be in that fight.”

 

“Okay, fair,” Chromia sighed, “but you two need to knock that shit off.”

 

“Yes, I shall endeavor to get in Windblade’s way as she’s carrying hot food, because _that_ won’t end badly.”

 

Windblade poked Starscream in the arm. “Bring the pasta to the sink, you noodle.”

 

Skywarp snorted.

 

“There are better endearments,” Starscream complained.

 

“Yes, but you haven’t earned them yet, so.”

 

“Awwww.”

 

“Good for you, Windblade,” Thundercracker toasted her with a full wineglass. “Keep him on his toes.”

 

“You are supposed to be on _my side!_ ” Everyone winced at how high Starscream’s voice went, and he calmed down.

 

“Nah,” Thundercracker shook his head, “you’re an overdramatic asshat, I owe you no loyalty in terms of you demanding you’re allowed to be an asshat.”

 

“Did anyone follow that?” Nautica asked.

 

“I did,” Starscream grumbled. “ _Fine_ , TC.”

 

“Are we waiting for anyone else?” Percy asked.

 

“No, Wheeljack and Brainstorm couldn’t make it.” Windblade wiped at her forehead with her sleeve. “Just waiting on the pasta noodles, so, Star, any time now.”

 

“If you would _get out of the way_...”

 

“You might notice _I’m not in the way_...”

 

Starscream didn’t dignify that with a response, but Percy noted that Windblade leaned a little closer to the counter as Starscream passed with the steaming pot. The sauce looked ready, and Windblade already had a serving bowl for it.

 

“Nautica, the plates?”

 

“Done.” Nautica wriggled around Starscream to reach the plates, and they both winced at the steam rising from the cooked noodles.

 

“I’ve got the silverware,” Chromia eased off the counter to go to the drawer. “Not the most formal sit down dinner to ever exist.”

 

“That’s okay, there’s no one we need to impress,” Windblade said absently.

 

“I _always_ like to be impressed,” Skywarp drawled.

 

“You don’t need a full place setting for that,” Starscream retorted.

 

“Starscream, I have a dish for that pasta when it’s ready.” Windblade put the full bowl of sauce on the table.

 

“Got it.”

 

The plates and silverware slowly came together on the table, and Starscream brought the bowl of pasta over. Percy pushed himself away from the counter, and he appreciated that Nautica and Chromia left a spot between them, instead of sitting anywhere near Starscream.

 

The pitcher of sangria and two bottles of wine were on the table, and Thundercracker offered to pour him a glass of wine. Percy nodded at him, and the table was largely silent as they dug in. Percy had watched Windblade make the sauce, and he still couldn’t figure out how it was so good.

 

As plates started to clear, conversation started, and naturally it started with Starscream ribbing Windblade. “Did you put _balsamic vinegar_ in this?”

 

“I’m surprised your palette is refined enough to pick up the traces,” she snarked as she sipped from her glass of sangria.

 

“I, for one, think it tastes good.”

 

“Thank you, Thundercracker,” she inclined her head toward him, and he raised his glass to her.

 

“I’m not saying it tastes bad, I’m just surprised that you did it.”

 

“I’m glad that you’re expanding your horizons,” Windblade patted his arm, and Skywarp snorted into his wineglass.

 

“And I’m so grateful to you for doing so for me,” Starscream’s voice was _dripping_ in sarcasm, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She made a face, and Percy chuckled despite himself.

 

“So, Winnnnnndy,” Skywarp drawled, and Windblade’s sharp look at his use of her nickname didn’t stop him from continuing, “how does the saga of Tarn being an asshole continue?”

 

She raised her eyebrows at Starscream, who shrugged. “He cut it back after I spoke to Megatron, but some tension remains. He doesn’t like that I went above his head, but he respects Megatron too much to make a big deal of it.”

 

“He’ll just have to deal,” Starscream sneered as he drank from his glass. “It’s been a long time coming.”

 

“I’ll take undefined rivalry for $1000, Alex,” Nautica nudged Percy.

 

Thundercracker and Skywarp snorted in unison, and Starscream scowled at the both of them. “It’s not worth discussing,” Starscream said loftily.

 

“No, no, it is.” Thundercracker leaned back in his chair and ripped off a piece of bread. “So, Tarn’s been Megatron’s TA for—”

 

“ _Far_ too long,” Starscream interrupted.

 

“About three years or so. He met Starscream by accident, apparently Megatron had planned for them to meet officially, since Megatron had practically sponsored for Tarn to get into the university’s poli-sci Ph.D program, but...well, Starscream happened.”

 

“I had been put out over the cost of my textbooks,” Starscream said, reluctantly.

 

“As everyone is, carry on,” Nautica nodded to him.

 

“And Tarn thought that Starscream was some snot-nosed kid who was there to just shout his grievances, so he was...rude in trying to shut it down.”

 

“Megatron arrived in the middle of the two of them shouting at each other,” Skywarp was finding it hard to restrain his giggles, “and he immediately shouted them _both_ down.”

 

“You’ve never heard Megatron yell, _really_ yell, but good god, you could almost believe that he was military from the way he can shut up a room,” Thundercracker shuddered. “I still have nightmares about that one party he broke up, Screamer.”

 

Skywarp and Starscream shivered. “ _Please_ don’t remind me,” Starscream said.

 

“So anyway,” Thundercracker picked the story back effortlessly, “Megatron informed Tarn just _who_ Starscream was, and—how did he look, again?”

 

Starscream _cackled_ , and Windblade edged away from him. “Like he’d shat an egg.”

 

Nautica, Chromia, and Windblade all proved that they had lived together for far too long when their faces all twisted in the same expression of disgust. “Thanks for that,” Nautica told him.

 

“I _really_ didn’t need that expression in my life,” Windblade murmured, and Starscream surprised everyone by picking up her hand and delicately kissing her knuckles.

 

“I’m delighted to vary your experiences,” he told her, and she rolled her eyes at him.

 

But she, Percy noted, did not remove her hand.

 

Nautica hid a yawn. “Y’all are great, but I’ve had too much wine.”

 

“I’ll put you to bed,” Chromia squeezed her shoulder. “Then I’ll come out and do dishes.”

 

“I can do--.”

 

Thundercracker interrupted Windblade. “Me and Skywarp will do the dishes.”

 

“We will.”

 

“Yes, we will.” Thundercracker gave Skywarp a Look. “After that, a card game?”

 

Windblade looked at Starscream and Percy. “I’d be okay with rummy.”

 

“No stakes,” Skywarp complained.

 

“No offense, Skywarp, but I’m never playing poker with you.” Windblade looked him over. “I have a suspicion you cheat.”

 

“Me? I would never!”

 

“He does,” Starscream confirmed. “Badly.”

 

“Hey--.”

 

“I’d like to go sit on the porch for a bit, if that’s all right,” Percy stopped the bickering before it got too uncomfortable. “I drank too much sangria and I think the cold air will clear my head.”

 

Windblade leaned forward. “I could join you, if you’d like?”

 

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary. I would like to enjoy the cold; it’s hot here for too much of the year.”

 

“Never go to Georgia,” Windblade advised him. “And Florida’s worse.”

 

Percy pushed himself upright. “I just need a few moments.”

 

“Take all the time you need.”

 

The buzz had passed enough that he didn’t need to lean on the wall to get to the porch, and he settled on the steps carefully. Windblade’s neighbors had also decided to take advantage of the cold snap, and the neighborhood children were laughing and shouting as they played football. The parents and grandparents were sitting together, and they waved to Percy.

 

Percy waved back.

 

“Hey.” Starscream was opening the screen door, two glasses in his hands. “You should probably have some water, to assist the cold air clearing thing.”

 

Percy accepted the glass with a wry raised brow. “Did Windblade ask you to bring me this?”

 

“I am capable of independent conclusions.” Starscream sat down. “It’s probably time for us to talk.”

 

“You are aware that after Skyfire told me what transpired and after I processed it, I chose not to focus on you as part of this conflict?”

 

Starscream lounged on the porch. “A rather annoying bird chirped to me that I was manipulated in Skyfire’s attempt to hurt you, and after some limited navel-gazing, I have to conclude that she’s right. So...” Starscream looked like he was about to have his hand amputated _and_ nauseous, “I suppose I owe you an...an...” He cleared his throat, “An _apology_.”

 

“It’s amazing your vocal cords still work after all that seizing,” Percy said, amused. “Are you apologizing for sleeping with Skyfire?”

 

“For allowing him to use me as a weapon to hurt you,” Starscream shrugged. “I shouldn’t have let myself be dragged in the middle of...whatever your issues are,” he waved his hand in a vaguely circular way in the space between him and Percy, and Percy’s amusement grew. “I dislike being a smokescreen.”

 

“Fair enough.” Percy’s thought process was still blurry, and he took a hurried sip of water. “So you’re apologizing.” He wanted to keep saying that until Starscream stopped twitching.

 

“I apologized,” Starscream corrected. “We’ve moved on.”

 

“Have we?”

 

“I think I like you better drunk.”

 

“I think I like you best when you want to make Windblade happy.”

 

Starscream snorted. “I didn’t do this for her.”

 

“Oh really?”

 

“I mean, if I did it for her, that would involve actually _telling_ her that we’ve had this conversation, which I don’t intend to, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t.”

 

“Oh, so that we can miraculously be in the same room together is merely...serendipitous.” Percy raised his eyebrows and finished his water.

 

“I’d prefer to pin on it the fact that I could use your assistance in clarifying some research of mine, and my usual astrochemist is not someone I want to consult at this moment.”

 

Percy turned that over in his head. “You’d really invite me to look over your research.”

 

“Only way you can clarify things for me, right?”

 

“...yeah, okay.” Percy shrugged. “Excuse me, I need to attend to a call of nature.”

 

“Dishes should be done by now, so go back into the kitchen and we’ll play cards.”

 

“Good.” Percy rose to his feet—no stumbling—and pulled open the screen door, and life went on.

 

Starscream went into the kitchen, where Windblade was putting away the last of the dishes. Thundercracker and Skywarp were shuffling two separate card desks—different backs—together. Windblade glanced at him, and he tilted his head at her. Her eyes were a little too shiny—it turned the vivid blue of her eyes into cobalt, and he desperately wanted to kiss her.

 

He had never been more resentful of his roommates’ presence.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

“I’m fine,” she said quickly.

 

Chromia came out of her bedroom, and closed the door quietly. “Nautica’s asleep, she’s been stressed lately.”

 

“Over what?” Thundercracker asked, dependable for his bleeding heart.

 

“She’s working on her honors thesis, which for an engineering student--.”

 

“Is to actually design, build, and prove the use of the damn thing,” Thundercracker was pensive. “I’ve been working on the same thing, she in the Corellia building?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I’ll bring lunch over to her sometime next week.”

 

Chromia settled into a chair with the grace of a queen claiming her throne. “Thank you.”

 

Starscream watched Windblade, who was avoiding his eyes. “Are we playing rummy?”

 

“Sounds good,” Windblade chirped, drying her hands and moving toward the table. Starscream decided to take a risk, well aware that it could go badly, but he slid into a chair, and when she got close enough, he wrapped a hand around her wrist and tugged her onto his lap.

 

The light conversation between Chromia and Thundercracker stopped, and he could feel the heated embarrassment emanating from Windblade’s _everything_ , but she didn’t push herself off his lap.

 

“It’ll be hard to play cards t-this way,” she told him, twisting her head around to look at him. Her entire face and neck were a brilliant scarlet, and her eyes were an even deeper cobalt, but she met his eyes.

 

Despite the stammer.

 

“I’m sure we’ll manage,” he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Thundercracker, are you _ever_ going to deal those cards?”

 

“Er, yeah. Just waiting for Percy.”

 

“No need to wait any longer,” Percy said as he entered the kitchen. To his credit, he only looked barely surprised at Windblade on Starscream’s lap. “I suppose the obvious question is what we’ll be doing on the nearest holiday.”

 

Starscream tensed, and Windblade poked his foot with her own. It didn’t have the impact she was hoping for; he was still wearing shoes and she had only socks on—bright blue, of course. “Obvious.”

 

“Charleston has a ghost tour,” Skywarp piped up. “I mean, it’s nothing on Savannah, but, hey Windy, you’d know that better than us, right?”

 

Windblade shrugged. “I’ve never been. I don’t believe in ghosts.”

 

“Says the person whose belief system is in a largely mystical goddess figure,” Starscream sniped.

 

He let her feel his flinch when she pinched him. “Just because I believe in one doesn’t mean I ascribe to the other. For god’s sake, Starscream, Solus isn’t Pagan.”

 

“She’s not,” Chromia confirmed. “She has thealogy and liturgy. Paganism isn’t as well organized.”

 

“Not that that is a bad thing, surely,” Percy said, continuing the discussion for his own purposes. Starscream eyed him.

 

“No,” Windblade allowed, “but there’s a difference in capital-P Pagan and lowercase-p pagan.”

 

“Oh?” Thundercracker and Percy were on the same page. It was the only reason why Thundercracker was continuing the inane conversation.

 

“One is a blanket term for a variety of nature-based spiritualties and the other is a term used by the Christian church to describe indigenous religions that wasn’t theirs,” Chromia was the most animated he had ever seen, and Windblade was relaxing into his hold. “Solus doesn’t fit either.”

 

“Isn’t the Church of Solus an indigenous religion?” Percy again, and Starscream was getting frustrated at not knowing the game Percy was up to.

 

“Not technically, but Windblade can answer that better than me.” Chromia drained what was left in her wineglass.

 

“The Church of Solus was founded by immigrants,” Windblade said quietly. “People who left their country and their spirituality with it. She represents home for those who can’t define what home is—the place they live in now or the place they left. Her symbol is the forge, to remind us that who we are and that what we decide as home is what we make of it. We keep forging, so that all impurities are purged clean.” Windblade looked around the table, and Starscream itched at the reverent hush. “Our impurities are our selfish drives, the things that cause us to harm others in the name of our own self-interest. We purge ourselves of that so that we can...” She was suddenly aware of the quiet, if the way she tensed was anything to go by. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

“No, no, please continue,” Thundercracker urged. What were they playing at?!

 

Windblade sighed. “We’re constant works in progress. Our ‘mission’, such as it is, is to be kind, which sounds overly simplistic, but it’s the closest I can explain without delving into the trickier parts of the thealogy. She doesn’t demand self-sacrifice; She would never demand we die for Her.”

 

“All that’s asked is that we extend the same patience and care for others that She extends for us,” Chromia stretched. “I have some issues with that, but that’s part of the reason why there was never that big a backlash to the church, despite being in the Bible Belt.”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Windblade snorted, breaking the spell. “You never had to deal with the racists who thought that calling at ten at night to say that we were godless heathens headed for hell was a fine entertainment.”

 

Chromia looked disturbed. “You never mentioned that before.”

 

“Mother didn’t think it was worth reporting to the police.”

 

“Deal the cards,” Starscream said briskly. “As for Halloween, a ghost tour in Charleston could be fun...except that all the tourists will have the same idea.”

 

Everyone groaned in unison. “Fine, no on the ghost tour,” Skywarp said, sullen.

 

“Theatre department’s hosting a costume party,” Percy said.

 

“On that Monday night?” Chromia frowned.

 

“No, the Saturday. I would be...amenable to attending, if you all deigned to join me.”

 

“I’m in,” Skywarp said enthusiastically. “TC’s in too.”

 

“What if I already had _plans_ , _god_ , ‘Warp.”

 

“You don’t, because I would be invited along. C’mon, _please_?”

 

One day, Thundercracker would be immune to Skywarp’s pleading gaze. That day had yet to arrive. “Fine, I guess.”

 

“I’ll clear it with Nautica first.”

 

Everyone looked at Windblade and Starscream, and he could feel her slight irritation that everyone presumed them to be a package deal. “We’ll see,” Windblade said at last. “It depends on homework.”

 

“Same here,” Starscream echoed. He looked around the table. “Are we _ever_ going to play cards?”

 

Thundercracker rolled his eyes. “Yes, of _course_.”

 

“ _Finally_.”

 

\--

 

_9 Weeks Down_

 

Windblade woke up slowly, her eyes on the ceiling above. Her dreaming had been more vivid lately; she could recall more intricate plots and sensory details than before. She could still feel the phantom warmth of Starscream’s hand on her cheek, a smile on his face that she could only have ever seen in a dream.

 

She grumbled to herself as she sat upright. Ever since the dinner party last week, her subconscious had been plaguing her with half-formed fantasies and derailing her train of thought. She would be focused on what citizenship meant to international law, and then she would get a glimpse of Starscream’s scrawling handwriting in her notebook—she had stuffed his notes at the back of hers, and sometimes she would consult his as she wrote—and then her concentration would be broken as she imagined him writing his notes on her naked back.

 

She didn’t even like international law that much, for Solus’ sake!

 

There was something else to it, she had to admit. She had never spoken that much of Solus to outsiders before; while proselytization was frowned upon, discussing the basics of Solus was not. Still, she had never done it before—her faith was quiet and constant, but she had no desire to trumpet her beliefs in front of anyone who might interrogate her for them.

 

Yet Starscream, the one person she—fear wasn’t the right word, _hesitated_ —to speak so frankly about her belief system...he had sat and listened without judgment.

 

No _wonder_ her subconscious was running wild.

 

She buried her face in her hands. She wasn’t ready for that. She wasn’t ready to look at him, or touch him, because she wasn’t sure that she could hide it. She had overheard part of his conversation with Percy—she had meant to invite them back to the kitchen but, well, life happened—and then the realization she had been avoiding for so long decided that waiting was bad and that she needed to be hit with 2 x 4.

 

She had nearly _cried_.

 

Nautica had that gleam in her eyes of discovery, and it made Windblade quail internally. An examination was coming, probably helped along by copious amounts of alcohol. She made a mental note to lock up the hooch. Chromia, on the other hand, _also_ looked like she had come to a realization, but the difference between Nautica and Chromia was that Nautica would get curious and ferret out what she wanted to know. Chromia _waited_.

 

Neither was enticing. Her newfound knowledge felt like a fragile glass bubble in the middle of her chest, and too much poking would cause it to shatter, and she wanted to protect it for a while. It was going to take time for her to adjust to the unexpected weight, and she just hoped she had the space to adjust without giving it away.

 

The research reception was that night, and Windblade stared at her dress, hung over the back of the closet door. She had found out—through careful means—that there was another research reception that night, in the astrophysics department, and she knew that Starscream wouldn’t randomly pop up at hers.

 

Megatron and Optimus swapped a _lot_ of gossip when they didn’t think she was listening.

 

She rose up off the bed. She had a lot of preparation before that evening’s party, and Nautica and Chromia were going to be out all day. She had time enough to examine the fragile bubble in her chest; she just needed do things while she did.

 

Her usual habit, when faced with emotions she didn’t fully understand, was not to interact with the cause of the emotions until the emotions faded or she understood, but that wouldn’t work. She had already made a promise not to take out her issues on Starscream, and it wasn’t really _his_ fault she was having...difficulties.

 

It wasn’t his fault she was in love with him.

 

The previous weekend’s cold snap had faded, and she needed to shave. She had found a navy bolero to go with the periwinkle dress; her shrug was too indecent—no, that was the wrong word, it just wasn’t professional enough for the people Optimus wanted her to rub elbows with. Her hair would be braided and pinned, and she had found a pair of silver heels. She liked gold better, but she found gold to be warmer, and she didn’t want to come across that night as _warm_. She had no doubt that Optimus was fishing for grad school offers for her, and while she was grateful—she _was_ —she had no desire to attend grad school for any of the programs he had in mind.

 

Her heart was still set on the State department.

 

But back to the matter at hand. She had never been in love with any of her partners before—attracted to them, yes, _loved_ them, yes, but never _in love_. Loving was strong enough, she had believed, and then something (usually...her) inevitably proved that it wasn’t.

 

Being in love was different.

 

For starters, she felt vaguely nauseous whenever she looked at Starscream. She felt his touches—such as they were—more viscerally than she ever had, and imprints of his touches lasted longer. Being _around_ Starscream made her giddy, and her stomach had a tendency to try to take off.

 

It was difficult to remind her _internal organs_ that gravity existed.

 

She had no idea if Starscream felt the same way. She knew he had—affection for her, but he had never shown any particular skill at self-reflection, and in order to suss out how he felt, that would involve actually _talking_ about something that she felt vaguely protective over. She had never been in love before, and to share that knowledge was to disrupt the fragile balance. She wanted to keep it to herself.

 

Optimus was picking her up in an hour. She wished he wasn’t, but the reception was being held in one of the ballrooms in the student union, and the school bus stopped running on the weekends at 4. Her heels were not strong enough for her to walk two miles in them.

 

She eyed herself in the mirror. The bolero, the dress, the heels, her hair...the only things missing were her make up and jewelry, and that would be easy enough.

 

She would reflect well on Optimus, she thought cynically. He would be proud.

 

\--

 

Starscream clapped Skyfire on the shoulder. “You should go talk to the NASA person. She’s impressed, go woo.”

 

Skyfire gave him a Look. “I’m inexperienced in the art of wooing.”

 

“Isn’t that the truth. C’mon, it’s for your future.”

 

Skyfire eyed him. “You’re angling for something.”

 

“As always, you pierce through my strongest deception. I mean it, though, go talk to her. She’s fascinated. Unless there’s something you’d like to tell me...?”

 

“Fine, I will go talk to the NASA person. Will you be here when I’m done?”

 

“I have another engagement,” Starscream said breezily. “Therefore leaving you to take all the glory. Which I know you will appreciate, me not sharing our respective thunder and leaving you with more opportunities, to pluck like low-hanging fruit. If you’ll excuse me.”

 

“Starscream, have I--?”

 

“Have you what?”

 

Skyfire frowned. “Have I offended you?”

 

“You? Offended me? Oh, never. I’m the baser one out of the two of us, remember? I’m impossible to offend, because it’s impossible for me to sink any lower.” Starscream’s mouth ran faster than his mind could keep up with, and the slight buzz of irritation that had been in the back of his head whenever he talked to Skyfire after his reconciliation with Windblade was beginning to turn into a low roar. It was time to take his leave.

 

“Starscream--.”

 

“Go woo the NASA woman, and don’t stop until she has a job offer for you. You’re capable.” Starscream straightened his jacket. “I have a different woman to woo.”

 

“Is she expecting you?”

 

“No, but since when has that ever stopped me?” Before Skyfire could voice his no-doubt objections to the idea, Starscream escaped through the side door. It was really amazing, how much Megatron could gossip when he didn’t think Starscream was paying attention.

 

The temperature had dropped as the sun went down, not enough to count as anything interesting, but it had cooled off enough for him to walk quickly from the science complex to the student union. It wasn’t far, and in his more cynical moments he wondered if it was so the science students didn’t starve.

 

He could care less about it right then as he vaulted over one of the low walls bordering the union courtyard and took the stairs two at a time. Like most Southern works of...architecture, it had a set of outer stairs and inner stairs. The ballroom was on the third floor, and by the time he stopped, he could feel a stitch in his side, and he paused to breathe. It wouldn’t do to surprise Windblade while breathless.

 

He straightened and tugged his jacket to lay right, and then he pulled the door open and slipped inside.

 

Poli-sci mixers tended to have cheap booze and cold lighting, and he wasn’t disappointed. He stole a glass of champagne—the university had clearly spent its money on enticing various figures to visit, not on the actual supplies for the party—and made his way around the room. Optimus was always an easy figure to spot, thanks to both his distinctive voice and his height, but the trick was to approach from the angle Windblade wouldn’t see him coming.

 

He frowned slightly at the sweater she was wearing. The dress was pretty enough without it—and then his eyes fell on whom she was making polite conversation with, and he understood. From behind, he could see how tense her shoulders were, and as he maneuvered around the crowd, he could see how her mouth was set in what looked like a smile to someone who didn’t know her, but was more of grimace. She had avoided her red lipstick for the evening, and he preferred it to the pale pink gloss that stained the lip of her wineglass. Optimus wasn’t holding a glass—he preferred to talk with his hands, and Megatron had complained about Optimus inadvertently spilling wine on his clothes enough that Optimus put down his drinking glass before he started talking.

 

She looked...insipid, and he _hated_ that. She was so much more than that.

 

He ducked around someone too quickly, and the action caught her eye. Her eyebrows raised and her lips parted when she saw him, and then, for a fraction of a second, her eyes flashed with...

 

Was she _pleading_?

 

That answered it for him, and he picked up another glass of shitty champagne as he made his way over. He arrived in time to hear Windblade demur, “Oh, but I don’t care for heat at all,” and he leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

 

“Hello, darling.”

 

She mouthed ' _darling_ _?’_ at him while Optimus frowned. “Starscream.”

 

One of the women—she wore a navy dress that _strongly_ implied she was used to wearing suits—perked up. “Starscream? Megatron’s son?”

 

He slipped an arm around Windblade’s waist to hide how he tensed. She took the spare glass of champagne and put down her nearly-full one, and he was appreciative that her movement hid his remaining tension. “Yes, technically.”

 

The woman smiled at him. “I’ve exchanged notes and research with him over the years—we were introduced through a mutual acquaintance. I know him well enough that he’s shared a few stories of your wayward youth, and I’ve swapped stories of my own children. Did you really once attempt to storm a Target?”

 

“In my defense,” he drawled, aware that Optimus was guaffawing and Windblade had pressed a hand to her mouth, “I had just watched the _Princess Bride_ and my friend was convinced that Target held all the secrets to the universe.”

 

“It wasn’t much of a storm,” Optimus said after he recovered. “More like two boys running up to the doors with toy lightsabers and yelling.”

 

Windblade shook with laughter, and Starscream drew himself up primly. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

 

The woman was shaking her head, and the rest of their coterie was stifling smiles. “Ravage. I’m a military historian at Annapolis.”

 

That sounded like Megatron’s type of person, all right. “Doctor...?”

 

“Megatron’s son can call me by my first name.” Ravage nodded to Windblade. “She was telling us about studying Japanese propaganda from World War II.”

 

“Er—yes, well, a lot of recent Japanese history up until that point--.”

 

She talked for a while about imperialism, religion, Japan’s relationship with the West (fraught, mainly), and how the political structure affected everything else, and while Starscream _was_ paying attention, he was paying more attention to the adults around them. Optimus was watching her with every kind of pride, Ravage was attentive but there was a sardonic tilt to her mouth (of course the _military historian_ would find Windblade’s explanation of a complicated history adorable), and the other three were...

 

Starscream tucked her just a little closer to him. He knew what Optimus was doing—Windblade also knew, no doubt, and probably hated the manipulation on her behalf. Optimus was determined to get her into a graduate program, come hell or high water, as prestigious a program as he could manage, with the financial backing to match.

 

For the first time, he wondered if his machinations had caused her more issues than what it solved.

 

Windblade finished her spiel, and she shrunk back _just_ slightly at the looks she was receiving. “Er, well, uh--.”

 

“If you’ll excuse us, I owe her a dance,” Starscream told the company. A corner of the ballroom was open for it, even if the music was slow, and she squeezed his hip in thanks. He caught Ravage’s gaze alighting on the subtle movement, and he wondered if he would have to deal with Megatron’s interrogation.

 

That was a thought for later. He had his arms full of a relieved Windblade right then, and that was more pressing.

 

“Thank you,” Windblade said, a little breathless. She didn’t like to talk for so long in front of people she was unsure of, but Optimus had wanted her to, and she didn’t want to disappoint him. “That was uncomfortable.”

 

“Who were they?”

 

“Well, you met Ravage. Out of that whole group, she’s the one I like the most. She’s not actively trying to recruit me.”

 

“You’d make a terrible soldier.” He reconsidered that, and then shook his head. No, still a terrible soldier.

 

“ _Thank_ you. Man with the red tie is head of the poli-sci department at Colombia, he and Optimus are old friends. Blue tie is Emeritus at Yale, his emphasis is political history, and Bowtie is a lecturer attached to UPenn’s International Relations department.” She shook her head, some hair escaping her braid. “It didn’t escape my notice that they all sit on their admissions committee for their graduate programs. He needs to _stop_.”

 

“Have you told him that?”

 

“Yes,” she leaned into him as they twirled, and she looked so _tired_. “I mean, I _am_ taking the GRE, though I haven’t told him that, but I’m not filing any applications. I’m going to the State department.”

 

“And if you don’t?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide with hurt, and he shook his head. “I’m not jinxing you, but you should have a back up.”

 

She was silent for a moment. “I’m—I _am_ considering a postgraduate degree, just not a doctorate, and I’m only considering it in the back of my head. It’s not in any of the fields that Optimus is trying to pick for me, either.”

 

He waited while she sorted out her thoughts. “Well?”

 

She sighed. “Public health,” she mumbled. “I took an Intro class in it a few semesters ago, and I loved it, but not enough to change my goals or major. There’s a lot of politics in it, but it’s more of an administrative field than diplomacy is, and I’m not cut out to be an elected official. I don’t have the right kind of charisma.”

 

She _did_ possess a certain charm, but he understood why she felt uncomfortable with elections. “Why not tell Optimus that?”

 

“Because he would talk me out of it.” She looked up at him. “He thinks I should be a lawyer, make my way up to the Supreme Court. He was _so_ happy when I decided to take International Law. That was...that _is_ hard to turn down. That kind of...pride. Affirmation. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

 

“You’d make a hell of a lawyer.” He privately thought she would make a particularly snappish international lawyer that drew up international agreements, but he was not about to say  _that_.

 

“Yes, but I don’t _want_ to be.” She made a frustrated teakettle noise and made to push away from him. “Why does everyone keep deciding _for_ me?”

 

“Hey, hey,” he tightened his hold on her forearms, and over her shoulder, he saw Ravage watching them. That decided him, and he started to pull her from the ballroom. “I’m not deciding anything for you, just...stating what you’d be good at.”

 

“That’s the problem,” her voice was getting thicker, to both of their horror, and she looked away from him as they cleared the ballroom. “I’d be good at so many things, but no one takes me seriously on what _I_ want.”

 

He glanced around. Most of the academics remained in the ballroom, and the few that had spilled out were chatting under the lights. They were in shadow, and once he was sure they weren’t being observed, he draped his arms over her shoulders and pulled her close. She was stiff for a moment—he wasn’t a hug person—but she relaxed and rested her cheek against his chest.

 

He wondered if she felt his heartbeat.

 

“I have no contacts at the State department,” he said finally. “I can’t guarantee a position for you there. I can contact a few universities, use Megatron’s name and make a donation, if you’re looking for certainty.”

 

She snorted and pushed away from him. Her eyes were dry, thank god, and they glittered with amusement. “That is called _nepotism_ , and I’d prefer not to get into something I want because my boyfriend talked them into it, instead of being accepted on my own merit.”

 

“Nepotism, helping someone out, what’s the difference?” he shrugged.

 

“An entire system of ethics,” she said severely, but her eyes were still glimmering. She wanted to kiss him, but she wasn’t prepared for the intimacy of it yet. “We should go back in, Optimus will wonder if I’m all right.” When she inhaled, her breath didn’t catch, and she wrestled her renegade emotions back to the middle of her chest where they belonged.

 

Starscream touched her elbow, and she felt electricity fizzle up her arm. “I can take you home.”

 

She managed a small breath of a laugh. “I should still tell Optimus. He drove me here.”

 

“And you were...okay with that?”

 

“Not really, but, you know.” She shrugged. “I have...issues.”

 

He snorted, and she pushed his shoulder. “You’re not supposed to _agree_ with me.”

 

“Oh, my apologies.”

 

She felt that starburst in her chest again, and she needed her head to be clear. “Wait—wait here, please. I’ll go say goodnight to Optimus.”

 

His eyes were doing that thing again, the thing that made her stomach flip. He lifted her hand and very carefully pressed his lips to her knuckles, and her cheeks flamed. He smirked, just a little, and let her hand fall. She turned around and nearly ran into the door, and she deliberately didn’t listen to his quiet snort as she repositioned herself to go back into the ballroom.

 

Ties and Bowtie had left, and Optimus was talking to Ravage quietly. She approached, and Ravage nudged Optimus. Optimus turned to look at her, and as Windblade came closer, Ravage’s smile wasn’t as calculating as earlier in the evening, but there was definitely an element of scheming in it. “It was lovely to meet you, Windblade. You wouldn’t enjoy Annapolis, but I hope you’ll keep in contact with me. I find your perspective...interesting.”

 

She had Ravage’s measure by then. “Interesting in its naiveté or in its lack of military information?”

 

“Both,” Ravage allowed, her smile widening with genuine amusement. “When you have a free weekend, after you graduate, come visit me. I can show you the military archives, and you can widen your perspective.”

 

Optimus stiffened, and Windblade considered it. The idea of having more information and being able to reorganize her current knowledge—she suddenly wanted it badly, but then she glanced at Optimus and was reminded why she didn’t want to pursue a degree of his choosing.  “I’ll consider it,” she said, neutral as always. “Thank you very much for the invitation.”

 

Ravage pressed a business card into her hands and wandered off, and Windblade turned to look at Optimus. He lost his stiffness and squeezed her shoulder. “Ravage  _never_ gives out that invitation. I’ve never even gotten it, although admittedly she’s always been closer to Megatron than to me. Me, I think she views with friendly...contempt.”

 

 

“She was the most enjoyable out of all of them,” she admitted. “The others were kind of...stuffy.”

 

“Tenure and academic accolades will do that.” He smiled at her. “I know you didn’t find that enjoyable, so thank you for attending. You _have_ done good work; there’s no shame in reveling in it.”

 

She bit her lip. “Sir, I--.”

 

“Is Starscream going to take you home?” He looked over her shoulder, and she glanced at the doors, where Ravage was murmuring something to Starscream. Starscream looked bored, but his fingers were twitching.

 

“He’s offered, but if you needed an excuse to leave--.”

 

“No, no,” he waved her off. “Feel free. Are _you_ all right?”

 

Oh look, her throat had a lump in it again. “I—I’m fine.”

 

He squeezed her shoulder again. “We can talk on Monday.”

 

“See you Monday, sir.”

 

“Good night, Windblade.”

 

At the door, Ravage had vanished and Starscream was sulking. Windblade reached out to grab his hand, and he looked at her. “What was that about?”

 

“Oh, just that Ravage and Megatron will be having dinner since she’s in town and that she’ll be sure to pass along to him that his desire to have a ballroom dancer as a son is coming true.” Windblade doubted that was what Ravage had said, but she wouldn’t fight with him when he was upset. “You ready?”

 

“Yes,” she tucked her clutch under her arm. “Where are you parked?”

 

“Not far. You want to take your shoes off?”

 

She tapped her chin. “Once we clear the building, I think.”

 

A grin lit up his face, and he tugged on her hand. “You’re concerned about propriety?”

 

“Just a little.”

 

“You know, at some point—and I _really_ hope I’m there to see it—you’re going to decide that these people are not worth the effort it takes for you to put on make up in the morning.” He was swinging their joined hands, and she half-wished he wouldn’t.

 

“I don’t put make up for them,” she remarked, “I do it for _me_.” She sighed. “And I will always care about propriety, because I was trained from a young age that my behavior reflects on more people than just myself. The only times I acted without thinking...there was punishment involved.”

 

He looked at her. “You gonna tell me about it?”

 

“Do you have a preference?”

 

“I’m guessing at least one of those times involved your drinking challenge.”

 

She sighed. “You’d be right. My mother was furious with me. ‘Drinking is for private, not public, consumption.’ She made me clean all the windows in the chapel.”

 

“Did she believe in chores as punishment?”

 

“She does, yes.” She leaned her face against his arm before straightening. “I really don’t want to talk about her.”

 

“We have to talk about her sometime. She still has power over you.”

 

There were several instinctive replies that jumped to her tongue, but she swallowed them down and sought something less conflicted. “Not tonight. I’m too fragile tonight.”

 

He could have picked up the gauntlet—she could see him thinking about it—but he let it go. “Do you want to me to stay with you tonight?”

 

The idea was seductive, but she knew they weren’t ready for that kind of intimacy yet. “Not in my bed,” she said reluctantly.

 

“I’ll take a couch.”

 

She looked askance at him. “Are Skywarp and Thundercracker having an orgy again?”

 

He snorted. “No, but...”

 

“But?”

 

“But I abandoned Skyfire to go wine and dine potential employers, and he’ll want to go through it blow-by-blow, and I don’t want to do that tonight.”

 

“You may shelter yourself with me,” she patted his arm and leaned down to remove her heels. “I’ll protect you.”

 

“I’m so grateful,” he deadpanned.

 

She winced at the gravel biting into the soles of her feet, and she paused to pull her shoes back on. “You should be.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Because if you weren’t throwing yourself onto my generosity,” she enjoyed the sharp twist of visceral satisfaction at his wince, “you wouldn’t get to have breakfast, made by me.”

 

“Of all the meals we’ve shared, I don’t think we’ve _ever_ shared breakfast.” He wrapped an arm around her. “At least, breakfast _you’ve_ made.”

 

She smiled impishly at him. “You’re welcome.”

 

He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I suppose I _am_ grateful.”

 

\--

 

It was two hours before dawn when Nautica woke up. Her sleep schedule had been weird and fractured, and though she had been telling everyone—Chromia included—that it was because of her senior honors thesis, she knew it started from Chromia’s injury.

 

It could have gone so badly. She had helped Chromia wash the dressing and shower, and the wound still made her queasy, even though it was nothing more than a scar.

 

Chromia was still asleep, curled around the pillow, and Nautica ran her hand down Chromia’s spine before getting up. She could get some work done, at least.

 

There was someone asleep on her couch. Someone who, as Nautica drew nearer, looked familiar. Starscream was fast asleep, his mouth twitching a little, and she almost touched him before snatching her hand back. With Starscream asleep—and not talking—she could _almost_ see the allure. He wasn’t unattractive, but he had too strong a temper for her to ever be comfortable in his presence.

 

She left him be and went to brew herself a cup of coffee. She could read until the sun started to come up, and then she would watch the sun rise. From her current sleeping habits, she had learned to love watching the sun rise.

 

She tried again and again to focus on her book, but the words swam off the page. She knew Chromia was fast asleep, her heartbeat regular. She didn’t even need the medications anymore, and she was faster than she had ever been. She was determined not to let it happen again, which Nautica could respect!

 

She just didn’t want her lover to come home with any more bullet holes.

 

Eventually, she gave up and took her coffee out to the front porch. She made sure to open it quietly—no need to wake up Starscream—and she perched on the steps. The street lights were flickering between orange and yellow, and Mrs. Johnson was already out, getting the newspaper. Nautica waved, and Mrs. Johnson waved back.

 

The early morning was a little cold, and Nautica shivered. She didn’t want to go back inside to get a sweater, not when the sun would be burning off the chill soon, and she elected to put up with it.

 

Her neighborhood was normally so lively, but she cherished the quiet. She was preternaturally aware of all the people in her house—Windblade was probably dreaming again, Chromia was deep into dreamless sleep, and Starscream was just...there. He threw off the flow in the house, and she entertained briefly that maybe that was why she woke up so suddenly, but she discarded it. She hadn’t been sleeping well for months, and his presence wouldn’t help or hinder that in any way.

 

She did wonder why Windblade hadn’t warned them, and then she remembered that she and Chromia had, er, _retired early_ , long before Windblade came back home. They had been easing into having sex again, and Nautica was struggling. On one hand, she wanted to prove to Chromia that having an injury and the surgery scars that she did didn’t make her any less desirable, but on the other, Nautica just wanted to hold her for a good long while.

 

There was no way that Windblade would have interrupted them for anything but an emergency. She knew them both too well.

 

The screen door screeched open and the heaviness of Starscream’s blanket was dropped onto her shoulders. She looked up at him as he sat down on the porch steps with a cup of coffee, and she looked him over. He was in some kind of boxer shorts that were a little too tight and a t-shirt, and she nodded to them. “Windy not keeping pajamas here for you?”

 

“I don’t sleep in pajamas,” he rasped, “typically just this.”

 

“You know why Windy sleeps in pjs, right?”

 

“Something about an emergency, yes?” He blew on his coffee and looked at her over the rim of it.

 

Nautica tucked the blanket around herself more securely and grinned at him. “Two words—zombie apocalypse.”

 

“You’re _joking_.”

 

“No, no, she told me once when I stayed over and we broke into her mother’s hooch supply. Even in August, she would sleep in long pajama pants, and I couldn’t figure out _why_ until she told me. Apparently one of her mother’s students liked zombie movies, and it scared her half to death as a kid, and she’s always been wary of them since.” Nautica considered that. “All of the things that scared her as a kid, she explained in her head as having supernatural associations. Wonder why that is.”

 

“Search me.” Starscream sipped his coffee. “So why are you here so early?”

 

“Did I wake you up?” she asked anxiously. “I didn’t mean to.”

 

He shrugged noncommittally. “Rude to answer a question with a question.”

 

“Because that’s something you totally care about.” She picked her coffee and swirled it in the mug. “I haven’t been sleeping well, school stress.”

 

“You should lie better.”

 

“What, more like you?”

 

“Ouch,” he smirked at her, and she swallowed what was left of her coffee to keep from snapping at him.

 

That was something new from the summer, too. She hadn’t been so easily irritated before...before the event. “It’s because of Chromia getting shot,” she admitted in a rush. “I haven’t slept well since. I know she’s okay now, but I was told how extensive her wounds were and it could have gone bad so fast...I didn’t tell Windy how bad it could’ve gotten. She’s been so absorbed in her own misery, I didn’t want to add to it.”

 

Starscream’s face worked through a strange expression, something she was hesitant to define. She guessed he wanted to ask more, but the strange expression fell away. “And you’ve been sitting here with your own.”

 

She shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t—want to talk to Chromia about it. I didn’t want to trigger her, she hasn’t really talked about the shooting to me. I know that part of the agreement for her to go back to work was to see the Castleman psychologist, and they wouldn’t put her back in the field until Castleman cleared her. So I know that she’s doing okay enough that they trust her with a gun in the field. It’s still...I’m just so _scared_. It could happen again. It probably will. And all I can do is sit there in the waiting room and— _wait!_ ”

 

She tightened her hands into fists, and she jumped when he put a hand on her shoulder. “You love her.”

 

“With everything I have,” Nautica agreed, just a little breathless at the weight of what she had just admitted. “It never even crossed my mind to break it off. She needed me, and I was there. I was trusted to be there for her. That was both amazing and terrifying to me. I’m listed as her next of kin, and I just—I just—I don’t want her to be hurt again. I know she loves what she does, and I’m glad she loves it, but I don’t want her life to be at risk for it.” She swiped at her eyes. “I don’t know how to tell her that.”

 

He squeezed her shoulder again, and she tilted into his side. He stiffened briefly, but then he sighed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The comfort, slight as it was, caused her to lose it, and she sobbed. Starscream didn’t move to comfort her any further, but he didn’t shrug it off, and that meant more than she possessed the words for.

 

As the sun came up, she wiped her face with the blanket and sat up. “M’sorry. Didn’t mean to do that.”

 

“You needed to do that. Let me guess, it’s easier because I’m not close?”

 

She daubed at her eyes. The cold was dissipating, and the blanket was stifling. “Pretty much. But you didn’t have to listen.”

 

“I’ve turned over a new leaf, I’m trying to be a decent person,” he drawled. “Please, compliment me more, it gives me the affirmation of the new lifestyle that I am _so_ desperate for.”

 

She giggled once and shoved him. “Thank you for being a decent person, Screamer.”

 

“You’re very welcome, Nautica.” He hesitated. “Don’t—tell Windblade I did this, please.”

 

“That you were a decent person? But you were doing so well.”

 

He frowned slightly, and she dropped the teasing. “Seriously, though, why?”

 

“If she were to know, she might see it as one of my gambits, and I don’t want that. It’s hard to care for other people, to learn _how_ , and while she’s been a...factor of that, she’s not the primary cause of it.”

 

“I think she’d want to know that,” Nautica said quietly. “She’s never entirely sure how serious you are.”

 

“I’m not ready for her to know that. I’m not saying she _can’t_ know, but I’m not ready yet.”

 

“Fine, I’ll keep your secret,” Nautica sighed. “In exchange for a favor at some point.”

 

“We’ll define that favor.”

 

“Not now. Windblade’s awake.”

 

Starscream blinked at her. “She—how did you know that?”

 

Nautica tapped her head. “You live with a person long enough, you can feel it. She knows me and Chromia, and same for Chromia. But also, I heard the toilet flush.”

 

“Gotcha.” He picked up his empty coffee mug and stood. He offered her his hand, and she took it. “Windblade mentioned something about making breakfast.”

 

“Probably pancakes, or eggs. She’s not fond of really complicated breakfasts.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

“Yeah, you should. I’ll go get Chromia up. I’m glad you stayed the night; I feel a lot better now.”

 

For the first time, Starscream smiled at her. It was small, and owed its ancestry to his more traditional smirk, but it was there. “You’re welcome.”

 

\--

 

_8 Weeks Down_

 

“Close the door, please,” Optimus smiled at Windblade. There was a low buzz of anxiety in her stomach, but she did as she was asked, and when she sat down, he pulled off his reading glasses. “Windblade, have I—have I offended you in some way?”

 

“Sir?” she blinked at him, the low buzz of anxiety turning into a quiet hum.

 

“You enjoyed discussing our research, but you didn’t enjoy any other aspect of the reception, and that was not my intent. I wanted—I had hoped—that you would enjoy it, but I saw that you didn’t, and for that I apologize. I didn’t mean to put you in the position where you were forced to do something you had no desire to.”

 

Oh no, her emotions were rising. “It was no hardship,” she started, “and for the most part, I found it satisfying.”

 

“But not enjoyable.” His eyes were measuring.

 

“Sir, I just—I don’t want to disappoint you,” she said in a rush. “You’ve done so much for me, asking me to come with you to a research reception was nothing in comparison.”

 

He leaned back, and she stiffened at the sadness that came over him. “Windblade, you’re not obligated to please me all the time. You’re your own person, and that’s fine. It’s okay to tell me no.”

 

“No, it’s _not_. You’re my boss, and you’ve done so much and done so much work, and you don’t ask a lot of me and--,” she blinked furiously, “I don’t have any right to say no.”

 

“Oh, Windblade, _no_. You have boundaries that I should respect, and vice versa. That’s how this works.” He leaned forward and offered her the tissue box, and she took one. “Why are you so afraid of disappointing me?”

 

She blew her nose and willed the tears away. It didn’t work. “I disappoint everyone,” she said, and her voice managed not to shake. “You helped me get out of a job I hated, and I’m so much happier because of it, and I respect you so much, sir. I can’t stand the idea of disappointing you.”

 

“We will disappoint each other,” his voice was so gentle, and she appreciated that he recognized their working relationship; otherwise, he might have tried to hug her. “We’re human. We _both_ will make choices that will disappoint the other. That doesn’t lessen my respect or regard for you, I promise. I don’t believe in moving goalposts.”

 

That just made her cry all the more. He let her cry it out, and once she stopped, he gave her a bottle of water. “It’s not my place, but perhaps...perhaps you should talk about this.”

 

She unscrewed the cap. “I—please don’t tell anyone. It’s over and done with, to the extent that it can be.”

 

“All right.”

 

She took a deep breath. “My relationship with my mother was steady up until high school. Once I reached high school—and our town was small enough that several towns fed into the local high school—I was exposed to non-Solusian culture for really the first time, the first _extended_ exposure, and yes, the culture I was being exposed was Southern, _white_ Christian culture, but it was still a shock, you know? I remember coming home from school with all these questions, because rural Georgia isn’t exactly known for its separation of church and state, and I—I was never tempted into converting. My experiences with largely white populations had left me with distaste for Christianity as a whole, but it was the first time I heard what these people actually believed and what they struggled with without them trying to evangelize me.”

 

He nodded, and she took a break to take a sip of water. Her hands were shaking so badly. “So their questions made me wonder if I had questions of my own, and when I thought about it, I _did_. Mother told me to confide in Solus and largely left the matter alone, and admittedly at the time she was wrangling with county officials over the Church of Solus keeping its tax-free status, so I understand—understood—her preoccupation.”

 

“Did she succeed?”

 

Windblade huffed a laugh. “Yes, but not after a lengthy fight. It was during and after the 2010 midterms, there were a lot of changes. Anyway, I remember that I couldn’t seem to please her. Nothing I did was right, and whenever we talked for a period of time, we always argued, and I was just so tired. All I wanted was her approval, and she could never seem to give it to me. Then I told her that I wanted to attend university for international studies so that I could be a diplomat, and she just...lost it.” The memories of that fight still made her cringe. “She wouldn’t let me visit colleges, and I had my heart my set on this one.”

 

Optimus rooted through his desk drawer until he found some chocolate, and he offered it to her. She hesitated, and he said, “No nuts. Megatron’s allergic to nuts, so I make sure I keep chocolate around that he can eat.”

 

She took it. “We have something in common. That’s strange.”

 

“Well, statistically...”

 

She flashed him a smile. “I wouldn’t call it abuse, not really,” she said reluctantly, falling back into a reverie. “But I had never thought of Solusian culture as stifling, I mean, _Christian_ culture is stifling, but it was like my mother thought she needed to hook me more, so she upped the amount of chores that I did for the church. Every time I failed or displeased her, I had more chores. She believed in chores as punishment, actually. I would help run services or clean the windows of the chapel. She never let me clean the altar, that was a privilege, to touch the symbols of Solus. It all came to a head the summer before my senior year of high school, because as it turned out, Nautica wanted to go here too, so we hatched a plan where we split the cost of a hotel room, and one of Mother’s students, Pyra, helped me out of the complex one day. I told Mother I was spending the night at Nautica’s, and Nautica told her mother that she was going to visit her cousin two towns over.” She took a shuddering breath, and Optimus passed her the tissue box. “We did a campus tour, went out to dinner, and basically went ‘is this what college freedom is like?' Because we wanted all of it. My life had been defined by Solus, and I still believed—believe—devoutly, but I didn’t want that to define my life anymore.”

 

“I’m guessing that your plan didn’t work.”

 

“No, something went wrong at Nautica’s, so her mom called her cousin when she couldn’t get a hold of Nautica, and that’s when she realized Nautica had lied to her. Nautica didn’t typically lie to her mom, but her mom loves my mother, and Nautica was very protective of me after some of the things that had happened, so her mom immediately called my mother, and my mother was ready to get the police involved, but Pyra managed to talk her down into waiting for us to come home without ever giving away her part in the whole thing. When we got home, our mothers separated us, and my mother was...frightening.”

 

“Did she hurt you?”

 

“Not physically,” she sighed. “But within the week, she had papers that declared me an emancipated minor. Her line of reasoning was that if I wanted so badly for this, that I would get better financial aid as an emancipated minor, but I knew—I _knew_ —she did it to hurt me. Nautica and me were supposed grounded from seeing each other until school started, but that didn’t really work. I called her after my mother dropped that packet of papers in front of me, and I don’t know what she said to her mom, but her mom rolled up and I spent three nights at her house while I tried to figure out what to do.”

 

Optimus’ jaw was set. “And you still remain in contact with her.”

 

He didn’t mean it that way, but she bristled nonetheless. “She’s my _mother_ , and it’s not—it’s not technically abuse. In a way.”

 

He held up his hands. “I didn’t mean to criticize you, I apologize. What happened after that?”

 

“It got really tense between us all the way through graduation. Then I graduated, and it’s like she realized she could lose me. My mother’s made a lot of sacrifices for me, and I know that, but she hurt me. She’s been trying to atone for that for years, but I don’t think she can ever make up for that damage. But—she’s trying.”

 

“Has she apologized?”

 

“Not in so many words, but I know her intent. Just because I know that doesn’t mean she’s absolved, though.” Windblade’s smile was thin and very bitter. “I won’t make it that easy for her. It does mean that I’ve had to rebuild myself from what she damaged, and I think I’m stronger for it. I just...have a horror of disappointing people.”

 

“I can understand that. Windblade, you should understand, you may disappoint me, but I will always respect you.” He leaned forward. “ _Do_ you want to go on to graduate school?”

 

“No,” she admitted. “At least not right off, and not in political science or history.”

 

“All right.” He nodded. “I will do everything I can to help you prepare for the State exam.”

 

Solus help her, that nearly made her break down in tears again. “T-thank you.”

 

“Now,” he said briskly, “I need to torture my freshman, and I was hoping you had some thoughts.”

 

“Trials build character?” she joked weakly.

 

“Indeed. I had thought of an oral exam.”

 

 

“No, don’t. Public humiliation is never the way to go. Unless you want to spare an entire week’s worth of office hours to have them come to you individually.”

 

His face spasmed. “Oh _no_. All right, perhaps not an oral exam. Will you help me write the midterm?”

 

She resettled the items on the desk. “Shall we begin?”

 

\--

 

Percy ignored the chatter outside of his lab door. The Friday before Halloween, everyone was excited and happy for the holiday. He was still working, but he was waiting on Skyfire. He had arranged for the two of them to meet in his lab that afternoon, where the intention was to finally hash things out, and for them to decide where they wanted to go from there.

 

Percy still couldn’t decide what he wanted. He thought he might know after he and Skyfire talked things out.

 

He noted a few more changes and turned off the Bunsen burner. As he stared at the covered test tube to check the smoke, he heard the door open and close quietly. “Percy?”

 

He gestured Skyfire over and looked up from the test tube. He had run the test twice, so it was just confirming his initial results. Skyfire sat down carefully on one of the lab stools, and Percy examined him. Skyfire appeared a little...crumpled, at the edges. His hair was messy and his clothes weren’t as pressed as Skyfire liked them to appear. Percy deduced that Skyfire’s sublease did not possess a hot iron, and he felt a flare of amusement.

 

“Well.”

 

“Well,” Percy echoed. They stared at each other, unsure of where to begin. “I should--.”

 

“I need--.”

 

They both stopped, and Percy gestured to him. “Go ahead.”

 

“I need to apologize,” Skyfire said quietly. “I’ve had a lot of time by myself over the past few weeks. Our mutual friend group has decided that I’m the one at fault--.”

 

“You are,” Percy cut across.

 

Skyfire blinked. “O—kay. Anyway. I’ve had a lot of time to think, and...while I’m not defending myself, I did something unforgiveable, I do think that had we been able to talk, it wouldn’t have happened.”

 

“There were at least two attempts on my part to talk to you that _you_ threw off the rails,” Percy felt very cold. “Why are you trying to throw off blame?” He tilted his head. “Do you even _want_ to get back together?”

 

“I’ve already said that—it’s just that...” Skyfire shrugged. “I don’t want to get back into a relationship where we’re constantly looking for us to screw up. And I think that’s what’s going to happen.”

 

“I’ve never had roommates before,” Percy said. He could hear the death knell in the back of his head. “I’ve never had to manage. But maybe you’re right. Maybe this wasn’t meant to be.”

 

Skyfire sighed. “Can you please tell your friends to stop freezing me out?”

 

“Maybe it’s not just me they’re mad about,” Percy observed. “But I’ll save that other uncomfortable situation for you.” The anger was almost comfortable, and he wondered when Skyfire would realize he was a coward. It was cowardly to use Starscream the way he did, and it was cowardly to continue to search for exits when he knew he had done wrong.

 

Thankfully, whatever hold Skyfire had retained over him was gone, and the lingering regret he had over doing the asshole thing and making Skyfire find a sublease evaporated. “You should go,” he said idly. “Windblade will be here soon to ‘surprise’ me, and we all know how much you can’t face her.”

 

Skyfire’s lips thinned. “You hadn’t struck me as the petty type.”

 

“No, that’s you. But whereas I am willing to relinquish the gauntlet, _she_ has not, and your misbehavior has given her plenty more ammunition—and more people to have cause to be angry with you over. You’re welcome to stay. I would enjoy the entertainment.”

 

“If you’ll excuse me,” bitter amusement rippled through him as Skyfire left with all due haste, and once he had cleared the room, Percy slumped against the desk. It was done, all of the second-guessing and internal debate. In a way, he felt...relieved. At least he knew where he stood.

 

He spent another half hour alone, upon which he ran another two tests on his solution, and then Windblade announced her presence with, “Two drunk freshman nearly collided into me. Is no one watching those children?”

 

He looked up from the Bunsen burner. “Are you volunteering?”

 

She walked into his line of sight with a slight smile. “ _God_ , no. I have no desire to have gremlins _or_ ducklings.”

 

“What a shame, I’m sure you would be skilled at wrangling both,” he deadpanned.

 

“While I appreciate your vote of confidence, allow to say in the most succinct way possible: hell _no_.”

 

He flashed a grin at her. “I just need to clear up.”

 

She leaned against the counter. “Anything fun happen today?”

 

“Skyfire stopped by.”

 

She shifted. “And?”

 

“I don’t think we’re getting back together.” He focused on the clamp. “He’s a coward, something I wish I had known earlier.” He looked at her. “Drinking tonight?”

 

“I still have to go into work tomorrow morning,” she said apologetically.

 

“Ah, fair enough. No, it’s just...I’m disappointed in him.”

 

“I understand,” she said.

 

“Do you?”

 

She shrugged. “He seemed like a good guy when I first met him, but he crossed a line when he tried to chastise me for hurting Starscream in April. I didn’t appreciate it.”

 

“Oh, right.” He had forgotten that. “You cut him down at the knees, if I remember correctly.”

 

“That’s probably what solidified his enmity. He held it in, he does that, which I can respect, but as soon as he judged it safe, he started to show it.”

 

“I can concur with that. He didn’t like that we were so close.” She was standing close enough to him that he could rest his head on her upper arm. She let him. “I do not feel...sad, anymore.”

 

“You’ve been feeling sad,” she pointed out, “and anxious. No matter what happens now, it’s settled. It’s certain.”

 

“Is that _also_ something you’re familiar with?”

 

She smiled. “Oh no, you know me too well by now.”

 

“What a tragedy.” He straightened. “Dinner?”

 

“I think so.” She gave him some room to stand up. “Breakfast for dinner?”

 

“Yes please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OPTIMUS IS THE BEST DAD. 
> 
> I worked for a long time on trying to figure out how to resolve the Skyfire-Percy issue. My original plan was to have them get back together, but as I wrote it and figured out how Percy was feeling about the whole thing, the more I realized that it just was not going to happen. I knew from the beginning that they were not going to last long past graduation, but as I got into Percy's head, I finally put it to rest. 
> 
> Please feed the author. Comments are everything.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos. It really does make my day when I get that particular email.
> 
> There's a reference in the chapter name, and if you get it, PLEASE TELL ME SO WE CAN SHARE THE JOKE. If you don't get it, I promise to explain when I post the next chapter. 
> 
> So in the original draft of this chapter (which...doesn't stray too far from this version), Windblade had a very light presence in it. But as I was writing and posting, I messed up my posting schedule, and so one interaction that would have been at the end of the last chapter got tacked onto this one, and it makes me feel better. It was a good break too, though--last chapter covered some heavy topics, and it felt right to leave off where we did. 
> 
> This chapter covers the last weekend of October and the first two weeks of November.

**CHAPTER FIVE: SOURCES OF DISQUIET  
**   


_8 Weeks Down_

 

Windblade hummed to herself as she chopped onions and carrots. Halloween weekend plans had been canceled in favor of Nautica and Brainstorm taking Percy out, and Chromia was reluctantly accompanying them to keep them out of trouble. She had the house to herself and was planning on a movie marathon. It had been a difficult week, and making her favorite stir fry and watching some mindless action films would be the best way to recuperate.

 

“Windblade!”

 

Except for that. She sighed and put down the knife, and she approached the front door as she wiped her hands with a kitchen towel. She opened the door and scowled at Starscream through the screen. “Starscream, what are you doing here?”

 

“I thought we were attending a party?” He looked her up and down. “Although if it’s a slumber party, I’m there.”

 

She blushed. She was wearing her oversized red sweater, leggings, and fuzzy socks, and his gaze was appreciative. “Percy and Skyfire finally put the remains of their relationship to rest yesterday, so we decided to change plans. I’m sorry that I forgot to let you know, it’s been a hard week.”

 

He pulled open the screen door. “What happened?”

 

She shrugged uncomfortably and stepped back to give him some room. “I’m making stir fry, is that agreeable?”

 

“Totally fine. What happened?”

 

“I had a hard conversation with Optimus—he’s not mad at me, but the conversation was hard—and then this week’s workload has been super stressful, and it probably feels _more_ stressful because I’ve been shaky since Monday, but anyway, I needed a quiet night.” She stifled a yawn behind her hand and returned to chopping carrots and onions. The broccoli was already prepared, and the mushrooms were in the sink.

 

He went looking around until he found a skillet. “What did you talk to Optimus about?”

 

She caught her breath. “Um—my mother.”

 

He looked at her. She looked back. “Well?”

 

She shifted. “Not in a good headspace to have a repeat of that conversation, especially since I got the email from my mother this morning about what my Thanksgiving plans are.”

 

“Have you replied yet?” Starscream drizzled sesame oil into the skillet and took the finished carrots. They would take the longest.

 

“I’ve been trying to come up with a credible excuse not to go.”

 

“Why not just tell her you don’t want to go?”

 

She snorted. “My family is Asian _and_ Southern. That is a conversation that _never_ happens.”

 

“Fine, so what’s your current excuse?”

 

“I plan on being conveniently ill,” she sighed.

 

He snorted. “ _That’ll_ work. And she won’t find it suspicious that you never bought a bus ticket.”

 

“Oh no,” she said earnestly, “I look up bus times, and I tell her I bought the ticket for a certain arrival time. Then, two days before I’m due to leave, I email her that I’ve caught a bug, and that I’m pretty sure it’s just a bug, but I don’t want to risk getting anyone sick on the bus or her.”

 

“And what happens if she decides that’s worrisome enough that she shows up randomly on Thanksgiving?”

 

“Oh, she won’t,” Windblade said confidently, “because of end-of-semester demands at the seminary. She’ll just cluck at me and tell me I should’ve been more careful. Here.” She passed him the plate of chopped onions, and once he took it, she went into the fridge for her teriyaki sauce. “It’s not a foolproof plan, but unless Optimus asks me to work over Thanksgiving break, it’s the best plan I have.”

 

He hummed, and she rolled her eyes. “If Optimus suddenly asks me to work over Thanksgiving break, I’m blaming _you_ ,” she warned.

 

“Mm-hm.” He stirred the veggies together, and she brought the broccoli and mushrooms over. “When are we adding the sauce?”

 

“After we add the rice.”

 

“Rice...?”

 

She put down the broccoli and mushrooms—he added them to the skillet—and turned back to the fridge to grab a small container of cooked rice. “It works better if the rice has chilled,” she explained. “I cooked it this morning.”

 

“That’s—interesting to know.”

 

“You’re welcome,” she pecked him on the cheek. “Wait until the broccoli has wilted a little before you stir the rice in, though.”

 

“Got it.” She jumped onto the edge of the counter and nudged his side with her foot.

 

“I think you’ve gotten more comfortable with cooking since we started...”

 

“Well, I can’t let you lead _always_ ,” he grumbled, scooping the rice into the skillet. They both flinched when a single grain jumped out of the hot oil onto the counter, and she wiped it off while Starscream opened up the jar of sauce and poured it in. “And technically, you’ve already done most of the work.”

 

“Well, you know.” She nudged him again, and he batted at her.

 

“So you were going to make stir fry?”

 

“And watch _Star Wars_ , yeah.” Windblade frowned down at the skillet.

 

“Why _Star Wars?_ ”

 

“I’ve—never actually seen any of them, and Nautica was enthusing about the newest one the other day. Apparently she saw it with Brainstorm or something.”

 

“Wait, hold on. You’ve _never_ seen _Star Wars?_ ” Starscream stared at her. 

 

“I—no. I’m not a huge sci-fi person.”

 

“We have to fix that right now,” he announced. “You have all of the Original Trilogy?”

 

“Er, yeah. I’ve heard mixed things about the prequels...”

 

“They suck. George Lucas can’t write to save his life. OT or nothing.”

 

“Why am I not surprised that you have such strong feelings about them?” she said fondly, kicking her legs out as Starscream stirred the rice.

 

“Because I’m so neutral on every other aspect of my life?” he offered, and he was rewarded by her quiet giggles. He grinned, briefly, before he turned his attention back to the skillet. “This is almost done.”

 

She pushed herself off the counter. “I’ll get plates.”

 

The sauce was steaming, and he turned the flame off as she brought the plates over. He served the two plates, and from there they went to the kitchen table. She felt an inkling of playfulness, and once he was settled, she stuck her sock-clad feet in his lap. He raised his eyebrows at her. “This isn’t the kind of footsie I enjoy.”

 

“Too bad, your lap is warm.” She leaned back in her chair and held her plate to her chest.

 

He rested his plate on her shins, and she winced a little; the heat from the food had transferred to the plate, and her leggings stopped at her knees. “And now _you’re_ warm.”

 

She made a face at him and started to eat. He couldn’t eat from the plate from its current position, and after a beat he picked the plate up again. She felt him watch her as they both cleared their plates, but she refused him the satisfaction of looking up. He finished before she did, and she jumped when he laid his hands on one of her feet, and she inhaled sharply when he pressed his fingers to the arch of her foot. He smirked and started to work her foot over, and she tried not to giggle when his fingertips trailed over the soft part, between the ball of her foot and her toes. Naturally, that meant he brushed his fingers over them more.

 

She finished the rest of her food in record time, and she pulled her feet out of his lap—they struggled over it briefly—and took his plate. “I’ll wash, you dry.”

 

“ _Fine_ ,” he grumbled, and she nudged him.

 

“You can go home, you know.”

 

“I’ll dry, I’ll dry.”

 

The air temperature had dropped, even if it hadn’t approached winter temperatures, and she edged just a little closer to him at the counter as she ran hot water and soap over the plates. His body heat was comfortable, and he was focused on the towel in his hands and what she was doing—for the first time all evening, she was relieved of the weight of his gaze.

 

She passed him the first plate and started on the second. She was reminded of one of the first times they had been in that position—almost a year ago. He had crowded up against her, and she remembered vividly that shock of confusion and panic when he had touched her. If he touched her just then, she thought she might just melt against him. That past week had been so hard, and she wanted to be comforted.

 

“Where are you going?” he demanded, taking the plate from her. She started and looked up at him.

 

“What?”

 

He gestured to her. “Your mind. Where are you going?”

 

She sighed. “Not particularly good places.”

 

She read hesitation in every line of his body, and then he placed his hands on her shoulders. She tensed, unsure of what that meant, and then he pulled her roughly against him. His hand cupped the back of her hand, and she almost flinched before settling against his chest. His other arm tightened around her, and her arms came up around his back. She buried her face against his chest, and while he was a little too stiff for him to comfortable, she was grateful that he was holding her.

 

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” His voice was unnaturally quiet, and he stroked her hair. He was attempting to hug her into submission, something that amused her—a new tactic for him—and that made her want to reward him.

 

She exhaled and rubbed her cheek along the soft cotton of his t-shirt. “Optimus told me that it would have been okay if I told him that I didn’t want to attend the research reception, and I explained why I have issues saying no to him.”

 

His arms tightened around her. His mind worked as fast as hers did, maybe faster, and she guessed he was recalling how he had seen her and her mother interact, and what little she had said about her mother. It wasn’t that she was ashamed, per se, but it was hard to explain. It was hard to say what had happened between her and her mother and then to follow it up with that she was still hoping she and her mother could have a positive relationship. She still wanted her mother’s approval.

 

“ _Why_?” he finally rasped.

 

“You’re going to need to be more specific,” she said, and she squeaked when he bent over to lift her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he looked at her.

 

“Why do you still want her in your life?” There was nothing but utter seriousness in his eyes, and she wondered what he wanted. “If she’s hurt you so badly that her impact continues to cause damage and friction in other relationships, why do you still want her in your life? She’s not contributing to your finances in any way. You can cut off contact.”

 

“She’s still my mother--.”

 

“That is _not enough_.”

 

“She’s all I have, Starscream! She’s all the blood family I have, and—I don’t know if one bad year between us is enough to sink the relationship.”

 

“Fine, another question. If she had done that kind of damage, and she _wasn’t_ your mother, would you continue the relationship?”

 

Windblade’s mind stalled, and there was vicious satisfaction in the look he gave her. “But I can’t take the fact that she’s my mother out of it,” she said at last. “And I really don’t want to argue about this.”

 

“We’re not--,” he shook his head, “I’m guessing that this was the part of the conversation with Optimus.”

 

His grip had shifted from comforting to restraining, and she wiggled uncomfortably. “Can you put me down, please?”

 

He looked conflicted, but he gave her a reason to trust him by putting her down. He lifted her chin, and she met his gaze again. “Did anyone protect you?”

 

Her lips thinned. “Pyra did. To a certain extent. She had to be careful about it, because otherwise Mother might have...And Nautica helped. I don’t need the reminder that I’m worth protecting, Starscream.”

 

“Do you believe it?”

 

She frowned at him. “Of course I do.”

 

With uncharacteristic gentleness, he kissed her forehead. “I don’t think you do. But let’s go watch _Star Wars_. We can fight about it later.” He picked up her hand and pulled her along to the living room. He settled against the couch—he extended his legs and everything—while she fiddled with the television and DVD player. She loaded in the DVD, but he didn’t swing his legs over the side of the couch when she approached, so she shrugged at him and lay down—on top of him. He adjusted his legs so that she wasn’t lying on top of them, and he started to work at her braid while she watched the screen.

 

“Why didn’t you move?” she asked once she had hit play. “Unless you wanted this.”

 

“You caught me,” he said lazily. He had managed to untie her hair and he was running his hands through it. A yawn started, and she batted at his hands.

 

“I want to stay awake.”

 

“Okay,” he agreed, and he tangled one hand in her hair but otherwise left it alone. She resettled her face against his chest, and his heartbeat reverberated against his ear. She blinked as a traditional sci-fi landscape filled the screen, and the story engaged her to the point she was unaware that he was playing with her hair again.

 

She understood why it was a classic as they meandered through it. The plot was just that side of ridiculous to be vaguely credible, even if, well, it wasn't her thing. Sci-fi had never really been her thing, but she had been hearing good things about the latest Star Wars film and she wanted to be ready for it. 

 

“ _Empire_?” She asked once the film was over, tilting her face up to look at him. “You up for it?”

 

He nodded at the time, and with a start, she saw it was past nine. “You want me to stay?”

 

She hesitated. “Let me just text Chromia, and then...if you want to.”

 

“There’s something coming that I want to see your reaction to,” he decided, and she pushed herself off the couch to find her phone. Chromia sent back a quick response, ‘ _Fine, but if he snores I’m kicking him out_ ,’ and she curled against the back of the couch. Starscream had gone to the bathroom, and she found the blanket. She tucked herself underneath it, and when he came back, she offered the other half to him.

 

He took it, and they moved onto the next film.

 

Her head ended up in the curve of his shoulder, and his arm wrapped around her lower back. She was starting to yawn, and he was yawning in response. “Wouldn’t wanna go to Hoth,” she remarked. “ _Way_ too cold.”

 

“And no goodhearted wompas to sacrifice their lives and their innards to keep you warm,” he smirked at her.

 

“ _Ugh_ ,” she shuddered in revulsion, “I get that needs must, but I would rather not _need_.”

 

He patted her head. “I understand.”

 

“Why is Han Solo so...beloved?” she asked a little later. “He’s not respecting Leia’s boundaries at all.”

 

“She’s not ready for him yet,” he assured her, “but she will be.”

 

Windblade pressed her lips together. “I don’t like the narrative that a woman just needs to be laid siege to until she said yes,” she said unhappily. An awkward silence descended, and she leaned against him as she realized why. “That’s...not really what happened to us.”

 

He squeezed her. “No, it’s not.”

 

Exhaustion was dragging at her, but she wanted something. She tilted her head up to look at him, and she was pleased when he looked down at her. She hesitated just for a moment, and then she pushed herself up the rest of the way. He let her, his dark eyes unreadable, and she stopped just short of actually kissing him. “Do you want this?” she asked, a little unsteady, and his eyes softened.

 

“You’re a fool. I _always_ want this.”

 

“Not that reassuring,” she told him, but she elected to use a better method to keep him from responding. She pressed her lips against his—his lips were chapped again, was he biting them in stress?—and curled her hand around his jaw. There was a beat, and then he lifted her into his lap and kissed her back. There was desperation in it, on both sides, and she arched against him when he sucked on her bottom lip.

 

He stopped, and she blinked at him. “What is it? Why are you stopping?”

 

“You never let me just lead,” he murmured. He rested his forehead against hers, and she tried to catch her breath. “Why now?”

 

She dropped her eyes. “We don’t have to be competitive all the time.”

 

It was tiring, to constantly set herself at arm’s length, and she didn’t want to do it anymore. “Is that it? I don’t want--,” he cut himself off, and she flexed her hand against his jaw to bring his attention back to her.

 

“I want this. I want _you_. But I don’t always need—we don’t always need to be one-upping each other. It’s exhausting, and I just don’t have the energy right now.”

 

“In case you were wondering, I also want you.” He shifted against her, and she went pink when she felt his dick against her thigh. “But that’s not new.”

 

“Always nice to be reminded.” She raised her eyebrows. “Now that we’ve established we’re enthusiastically consenting adults, can we get back to kissing?”

 

“I don’t know, I’m enjoying--,” she cut him off with another kiss, and his arms tightened around her. They enjoyed themselves for a while—her clothing was feeling uncomfortably warm—but then he broke away from her. “Hang on, I want to watch this part.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” she complained.

 

“For once I leave _you_ wanting. Besides, you want to watch Cloud City.”

 

“I do,” she said, a touch dubiously.

 

“Yes.” He pushed at her shoulders until she rose, and then he made himself more comfortable on the couch and pulled her down onto him. She deliberately shifted across him, still annoyed, and he pulled on her hair lightly. “Stop that.”

 

“I was _enjoying_ myself.”

 

“You’ll get another chance. Now, hush.”

 

Windblade subsided and returned her attention to the television. Chromia had been the one to buy it, on the grounds that she got tired of watching television from her laptop alone. It was a fair argument, and one of the first ‘big’ items Chromia had bought once she started with Castleman. They had kept a list of who bought what for the house once they moved in, so that moving out would be less of an issue, but Windblade suspected most of her ‘furniture’ stuff would be going with them. Once she passed the State exam, she would have training, but then she wanted to ship out as soon as possible. She had no clue what that timetable looked like, but she hoped within a year or two. She could get by with minimal furniture for that long.

 

“So meeting the dad didn’t go well,” she said, a touch sleepily. Han Solo looked shocked at how easily Darth Vader had taken his gun from him, and Starscream grumbled slightly.

 

“So you know about that.”

 

“I may not be a huge sci-fi fan, but it’s not like _that_ is a spoiler anymore.”

 

He sighed dramatically, and his hand found her hair. She relaxed into his touch, and he said, “I guess it was ridiculous to hope.”

 

“It’s sweet that you did, though,” she promised.

 

He made a disgusted noise. “ _Sweet_. Really.”

 

“Hush, I want to watch.”

 

“Oh, _now_ you want to watch.”

 

She made a face at him, but they both quieted. Hearing his heartbeat reverberate against the shell of her ear was enough to time her breaths to his, and the earlier...discomfort passed, leaving her clothes more uncomfortable than before. Still, she managed well, but she was yawning.

 

He turned off the television, and she made a vaguely protesting sound. “We’ll catch up tomorrow.” He stroked her hair. “Go to sleep.”

 

“And you?”

 

“I’m good on the couch—unless you _want_ me in your bed.” He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, and she choked.

 

For answer, he got a pillow to the face and she pushed herself upright. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

When she came back, he had one arm tucked behind his head and his legs were splayed, and her lips twitched with a combination of humor and annoyance. She tossed the blanket at his stomach, and when he did the instinctive “OOMPH”, she rolled her eyes at him. “Stop posing.”

 

“But it’s so attractive.”

 

“Good _night_ , Starscream.”

 

“Night, Windblade.”

 

Strangely, she found herself content with the status quo. Though if Starscream stayed over another Saturday night, Chromia was going to start charging him rent. Neither had been particularly planned, but Windblade did have homework to catch up on. It might be time to limit her excursions with him to within the week.

 

Well, they’d see.

 

\--

 

_7 Weeks Down_

 

Skywarp wrapped an arm around Starscream’s neck companionably. “It’s good that you’re coming out with me,” he hollered in the general vicinity of Starscream’s ear. “You need this!”

 

Starscream pushed him aside so that he could pick up a shot. “Why does your version of relaxation always involve shots?”

 

“’Cause they’re fun! Hey, Liz, another flight of tequila shots please!” The bartender rolled her eyes at Skywarp and finished mixing a martini.

 

“This,” Starscream informed Skywarp as he lifted the shot and drank it professionally, “is not fun.”

 

“But you’re doing pretty well.” Skywarp paid the bartender when she set down another four shots in front of them, and he turned on his stool to look at his roommate. “So what’s going on in your head that you’re willingly drinking tequila?”

 

“It’s the drink of choice for WASPs everywhere, don’t you know?” Starscream snarked.

 

“One, you don’t watch that much _Grey’s Anatomy_ , and two, you’re not a WASP in the slightest.”

 

“Oh no, you caught me,” Starscream said nastily.

 

Skywarp thumped him on the shoulder. “Stop being a jackass. What’s wrong?”

 

Starscream took another shot, and then he looked at Skywarp. “Some serious evaluation, in ways that I’m not comfortable with.”

 

Skywarp leaned his chin on his hand. “I know I’m not TC or anything, but you _can_ talk to me, Screamer.”

 

“Skyfire used me,” Starscream flipped over the shot glass and it chinked against the fake wood of the bar. “To hurt Percy. He knew I would talk him into it, if given the chance, and he gave me the chance. Thing is, I might not have even realized it if it wasn’t for Windblade’s obsession with analyzing how I work, but if it wasn’t for Windblade in the first place, I might not have been in the position where Skyfire used me to hurt Percy in the first place. Maybe not.” He wiped his mouth. “Skyfire was using Windblade as an excuse instead of recognizing the real reasons why his relationship was dying.”

 

“Shit, man.”

 

“Yeah.” Starscream drank from his club soda. “I’m not exactly sure what to do with this information. I’m— _god_ —angry and disappointed at the knowledge that there was more going on there than I had known, but I don’t want to shoot Skyfire or anything like that. I just want him to realize that...”

 

“That he hurt you,” Skywarp shrugged and drank some water of his own. “Are you angry with him? Skyfire, I mean? ‘Cause I don’t think you’ve ever been really angry with him.”

 

“True,” Starscream’s hands were shaking just slightly. “Which is why I don’t know how to handle it.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“You’re helpful.”

 

“You want helpful, you talk to TC.” Skywarp downed another shot and blinked at the bar. “Whoa. Okay, so like, you go up to Skyfire and say in the Megatron voice--.”

 

“I do not do the Megatron voice.”

 

“You so do! When you’re trying to intimidate a person. It works, mostly, by the way. You do the Megatron voice and say ‘I am disappointed in you.’ ‘Course, he’s gonna go that he was relying on your nature and well, you do you.”

 

“You’re still too sober,” Starscream complained.

 

“ _In vino veritas_ , or whatever. Maybe something is speaking through me, and my actual self is fast asleep because of drinking.”

 

Starscream considered that. “I think you’re reading too much fantasy again.”

 

“Pft, like I _read_.”

 

“Fair point.”

 

Starscream eyed the last shots with trepidation. His head was already swimming, and one more shot would officially render him useless. He didn’t want to be useless.

 

He took the shot.

 

For a moment, nausea swamped him, but with a supreme amount of effort, he managed to get it under control. Once he was sure vomit would not be punctuating his conversation, he took the glass of club soda and drained it. Skywarp was batting at Starscream’s pockets, and Starscream looked down at him bemusedly. “What’re you doing?”

 

“Fixing things and being a good friend. I am juuuuust drunk enough to think this is a good idea.” Skywarp peered at the screen, and beamed when he pulled up the right name. “Y’lo—yeah, it’s Skywarp. No, I am _not drunk_.”

 

“Who are you talking to?” Starscream demanded, but Skywarp covered Starscream’s mouth with his hand.

 

“Look, I am with Star and we are drunk off our asses, so if—no, you don’t have to pick me up, don’t get all pinched and uncomfortable. Yes, I meant to say it that way. Yeah, we’re at the flight bar. Because they don’t play shitty ass music, dumbass. Thanks!” Skywarp slid the phone down the bar. “Thank me later. I gotta call TC.”

 

“Who was—Skywarp!” Skywarp was already pushing himself away from the bar and stumbling to the front door, and Starscream rolled his eyes and finished Skywarp’s water too. He left a tip for the bartender and headed after Skywarp, who was rambling into his phone about drunk he was and could he and TC have some fun, please. “Skywarp, you’re such a slut.”

 

Skywarp turned on his heel, genuinely offended. “Says the dude who practically made a living out of tripping and having his dick land in whatever until you got turned all respectable.” He smirked. “Well, not _entirely_ respectable.”

 

Sparks of anger simmered behind his eyes at the reminder, but he knew that Skywarp was just drunk enough to be nastily mischievous. That wasn’t enough for Starscream to punch him, even though he _dearly_ wanted to. “You’re the one who sleeps with anyone who’ll say yes,” Starscream argued. “Any _thing_ , even.”

 

Skywarp pouted. “We agreed not to kinkshame!”

 

“Is that kinkshaming or just...an observation?” Starscream’s lips twitched.

 

“That is totally kinkshaming!”

 

“Have you considered,” Starscream started, blinking his eyes innocently, “that perhaps you’re oversensitive?”

 

“Have _you_ considered,” Skywarp retorted hotly, but he was interrupted.

 

“Skywarp? Starscream?” Skyfire rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh—Skywarp called me.”

 

Starscream cut his eyes toward Skywarp, who shrugged. “TC’s coming,” he informed them. “So you two go do...things.”

 

Starscream raised a hand threateningly, intending to cuff Skywarp, but the tequila chose just then to kick in, and he stumbled. Skyfire caught him, and Starscream glared in Skywarp’s general direction. “You’re a meddling asshole,” Starscream told him.

 

Skywarp grinned. “Too bad! Later.”

 

“Skyfire, this really isn’t necessary,” Starscream said to Skyfire. When had his feet left the ground?

 

“I...can’t actually understand you right now,” Skyfire’s voice was hesitant. “You’re slurring too badly. I’m just going to put you to bed.”

 

“No,” Starscream said in as definitive a way he could manage. “I demand to go back and yell at Skywarp.”

 

“I can’t tell what you want, but I’m guessing from your tone you want to fight Skywarp. You can barely stand up right now, but I’m sure after you sober up that you can do it.”

 

“I can do it right now,” Starscream muttered. “If only you’d _let me_.”

 

“Why are you so belligerent when you’re drunk? Starscream, _stop fighting me_. My car’s just around the block.”

 

“Maybe I’m belligerent because at my heart, all I want to do is fight people. All the time. Verbally _and_ physically. I could take _you_.”

 

Skyfire made soothing noises and patted Starscream’s legs. “Yes, yes.”

 

Starscream stared at the ground. This is what he was reduced to, he mourned. A prop to be moved. After a while, the rolling movement of Skyfire walking managed to lull him into a light doze, and he squawked unhappily when Skyfire levered him out of the fireman’s carry and into the car. Starscream hit his head on the doorframe on his way down and squawked again.

 

“Sorry,” Skyfire tucked his legs inside the cab. “That was unintentional.” He looked him over. “I think you’ll survive.”

 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Starscream mumbled.

 

Skyfire closed the door, and Starscream’s eyes slipped shut.

 

\--

 

Skyfire fiddled with the moka pot. Starscream was still fast asleep on the couch, but as soon as the espresso was ready, Starscream would likely sit bolt upright. He had a sixth sense for coffee. It was almost--cool.

 

Sure enough, Starscream sat bolt upright, and then moaned in pain as his head moved. “Ex—excuse me,” he managed, and then he bolted for the bathroom. Skyfire hummed in amusement and got out a glass of water and two aspirin, and after a while, Starscream reappeared, his face grey.

 

“Water.”

 

“Thanks,” Starscream croaked. He drank the water carefully, as though it would strike him in the face if he wasn’t careful, and then he took the two aspirin. “I don’t remember much—when did you show up?”

 

“You and Skywarp were circling each other like territorial tomcats with your fur fluffed out, and you’d had several tequila shots.” Skyfire folded over the next page of the newspaper.

 

Starscream made a face. “I hate drinking tequila.”

 

“Indeed. So why did you drink it again? In our long acquaintance, I don’t think you’ve ever had tequila.”

 

“I was upset,” Starscream mumbled, “That was Skywarp’s version of therapy.”

 

“I see. And you were upset about...?”

 

Starscream sighed. “Did you know I would talk you into cheating on Percy?”

 

Skyfire blinked. “That was months ago.”

 

“Duh, I’m totally aware of that.” Starscream’s head was in his hands, and he wasn’t making eye contact. The hangover was still too strong, Skyfire supposed. “But did you _know_?”

 

That would explain the awkwardness between the two of them—if Starscream had come to that realization. “Yes. I knew.”

 

“So you basically set me up to convince you to hurt Percy.”

 

“Yes,” Skyfire said cautiously. “I knew you didn’t care for him,” though that had changed, if the two times he had walked in on them with their heads together in Starscream’s lab was any kind of signifier, “and you’re usually up for it.” Innuendo _not_ intended.

 

“Why do you always believe the worst of me?” Starscream’s voice was strangely plaintive, and alarm bells rang in Skyfire’s head.

 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you like behaving the worst that you can, when you can get away with it,” Skyfire pointed out. He reconsidered. “Though I will admit you’ve dialed that down in past months.”

 

“Yeah, Skywarp said the same thing.” Starscream’s face twisted in thought, “I think. I think he said something like that. Last night’s coming back in flashes. Look, I just—I don’t appreciate being set up like that. You could’ve just flat out said you wanted to hurt him. I would’ve gone along with that. You didn’t need to manipulate me to manipulate _you_ into it.”

 

“I’m—I’m sorry. I thought that maybe you were wanting to...never mind. I’m sorry.”

 

“Apology accepted,” Starscream exhaled. “But don’t do it again. You’re my friend. I want you stay that way.”

 

Skyfire felt a chill. “You mean you...”

 

Starscream ignored that. “It’s okay not to believe I can be the worst all the time,” he admitted. “I know that I am, but you don’t always have to believe it, you know? I’m changing. I’m doing things for other people in ways that don’t immediately benefit me.” His lips lifted in a small, genuine smile. “I’m practically respectable.”

 

“I believe that when you can actually stand to propose,” Skyfire grumbled good-naturedly. “And no, that is _not_ a challenge.”

 

“Why is marriage such a pillar in society?” Starscream complained, just as Skyfire knew he would. “Yes, let’s promise to have and to hold until we can’t stand each other anymore. Brilliant. The concept of marriage is _so strange_.”

 

“I want to get married,” Skyfire said unexpectedly. “I like that it represents stability. I like stability. I know that divorces are things that exist, but marriage _means_ something to me.”

 

Starscream considered him. “You’ve become more open,” he decided. “More open than you used to be. Have you learned something from this?”

 

Skyfire put down the newspaper. It wasn’t like he’d been reading it anyway. “I think so,” he admitted. “I think I learned that sometimes it’s better to talk before I fight. Just because my instinct is to make something of whatever, it doesn’t mean that instinct is _right_. You know?”

 

“I think so.” Starscream made a low noise. “I’ve been learning that one too. It’s hard, sometimes, to hold it together to be able to talk, even if I’m really mad.”

 

They both stared at each other, and then Starscream sighed. “I’m only doing this once,” he mumbled, and then he came over to Skyfire. He lifted Skyfire’s chin, far more gently than Skyfire would have ever believed him capable of, and then he kissed him. Starscream tasted vaguely minty—he must have used Skyfire’s toothbrush—and Skyfire leaned into the kiss.

 

For a moment, Skyfire thought about what it would be like to be the person Starscream loved that like, where all of that frustration and anger was gone and left the gentleness behind. It was...heady, to imagine being loved like that, and then Starscream pulled away. “No more,” he said. “But—and I’m going to sound like a total chick—you’re still my best friend, but we can’t have sex anymore. I can’t trust you with that anymore.”

 

And _that_ was the stab Skyfire had been expecting. “You never minded before,” he pointed out.

 

Starscream shifted. “I have people to keep promises to now. I care about--,” he made a face, “being a _slightly_ more honest person than I have been. Only slightly.”

 

“Of course,” Skyfire agreed, humor soothing over the sting. “You haven’t turned into a completely different person.”

 

“Aliens have _not_ invaded.” Starscream wandered away. “This studio is so not decorated to your tastes. I mean, purple walls and lime green carpet? _Really?_ ”

 

“At least it’s only a rug and not wall-to-wall carpet,” Skyfire said neutrally, though he agreed. “I’m going to need to find another sublease.”

 

“Wheeljack’s looking for a roommate,” Starscream offered. “Just after he and his roommate renewed their lease for this academic year, his roommate dropped the bomb that he would be graduating in December. As far as I know, they’re still not speaking, but Wheeljack spends most of his time in the lab anyway.”

 

Skyfire was finding it hard to rearrange his face into something approaching neutral. “But... _Wheeljack_.”

 

“C’mon, it’s just until early June.” Starscream picked up a knickknack and turned it over in his hands. “You can live with anything for that long.” He turned his head to look at Skyfire. “And Wheeljack spends most of his time in the lab. You’re both graduating in the spring, so you’ll both be up to your neck in honors thesis defense and shit. You’ll be fine.”

 

“What’s the rent situation?”

 

“Five hundred and thirty, but that covers all utilities and you get your own bathroom.”

 

“I can manage that. I’ll talk to him.” Skyfire looked at him. “Thanks, Starscream.”

 

“What are friends for?” Starscream grinned briefly. “Anytime.”

 

\--

 

“Are you going to watch the carnivorous teddy bears?” Chromia nudged Windblade’s legs until she took them off the coffee table, and then flopped down next to her. “Popcorn?”

 

Windblade took a handful. “No, I’m waiting on the carnivorous teddy bears and deciding to watch something on Netflix instead. Maybe a Disney movie.”

 

“You and Disney movies.” Chromia was flat, and Windblade flapped a hand at her.

 

“You’re right, I think a documentary. Oooh, that one about the Titanic!”

 

“I wish I understood you,” Chromia said fondly. “Fine, I will watch your ridiculous documentary.”

 

“It’s not that ridiculous, it’s this guy’s life work to figure out what really went wrong on the Titanic.”

 

“I wonder what he’s doing now.”

 

“Hopefully, _resting_.” They shared a look, and Windblade’s lips twitched up at the corners. “I’m sure he appreciates the space to figure out who he is without the Titanic.”

 

“We could Google him...?”

 

“No, I don’t care that much.” Windblade put her feet back on the coffee table. “I just need something to listen to while I work on homework.”

 

“You can focus on homework and this obsessed guy’s ramblings about the Titanic?” Chromia ate a handful of popcorn, amused. “Okay then.”

 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Windblade said absently. “I don’t want to clear kernels off my notes.”

 

Just to be petty, Chromia chewed the next mouthful of popcorn with an open mouth. Windblade, to her disappointment, didn’t look up.

 

She paid more attention to the documentary than Windblade did, and while she found the man a bit sad—obsessed with the Titanic since he was a kid, really?—he found out a lot of interesting things. She would grant him that.

 

The documentary was about an hour and a half, but Windblade closed up her notes with fifteen minutes to spare. “I will not be leaving Tarn positive reviews on whatever version of rate my professor exists. _So_ much work.”

 

Chromia leaned back against the couch after placing the empty popcorn bowl on the coffee table. “Like you haven’t been burying yourself in work for the last two weeks. I wonder why that it is.”

 

Windblade froze. “No. No reason.”

 

Ah, Chromia thought. “I think there is.”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Fine. If you say so.”

 

“I _do_ say so.”

 

Chromia waited. Windblade needed careful handling when she was that tetchy; she had to know she would be listened to. She had an annoying tendency to sit onto things until it took over her life, and Chromia suspected that if Windblade had discussed her issues about long-term romantic relationships before Starscream fucked up, they might not have had the issues they did.

 

Of course, if she took too long, Chromia saw absolutely no problem with tough love.

 

“I’m not ready to talk about it yet,” Windblade said as the credits rolled. “It’s too new, and I haven’t adjusted to it yet.”

 

“Is this the kind of adjustment that leads to the black hole of cookie bingeing?”

 

“No,” Windblade admitted. “It’s the kind of adjustment that makes me have to choose between two things, and I can’t have them both.”

 

Chromia thought about that. “Out of curiosity...have you considered back up plans for if the State department doesn’t fall through?”

 

Windblade’s reaction was immediate—she stiffened, and her mouth flattened into a solid line. “Chromia--.”

 

“I’m not saying you’re not capable,” Chromia interrupted. She didn’t have time to soothe Windblade’s insecurities. The conversation was too important. “No one is saying that. Sometimes, other things happen, things you can’t control. Have you considered a back up plan?”

 

Windblade looked unhappy. “I go back home and translate for Mother.”

 

Chromia sat bolt upright. “Absolutely _not_.”

 

“It’s the only other surety!”

 

“I will _not let that happen_.” Chromia exhaled sharply through her nose. “You’ve worked too hard to rebuild yourself after...everything, I am not going to allow you to be back under her thumb. Never.”

 

“What do you suggest, then?”

 

“Talk to Optimus. See what advice he can offer you. Apply for jobs. God, woman, do you _want_ to go back home?”

 

“No,” Windblade snapped, her cheeks reddening. “But I don’t like uncertainty.”

 

“Does anyone?” Chromia sighed. “Please, for me. Start to pull your resume together. You can’t put all of your hopes in one future. You didn’t apply to just this college, right?”

 

“No,” Windblade was grudging.

 

“So please, dear heart, for me.”

 

“Fine,” Windblade sighed.

 

A few moments passed, and then Chromia realized. “You deliberately distracted me from things, weren’t you?”

 

Windblade looked a little guilty. “I do actually have a resume, and I am planning on sending it out. I just really want the State department.”

 

“So what are you trying to adjust to?”

 

Windblade bit her lip. That was never a good sign. It meant she wasn’t ready. “It’s too new. I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

 

It wasn’t the right time for tough love. “Okay. I—okay.”

 

Windblade leaned against her. “So when are you making an honest woman out of Nautica?”

 

Chromia choked.

 

\--

 

Megatron leaned against the doorframe and watched Windblade type grades in. “I always hate that part. Inputting grades is so tedious.”

 

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” she said, turning around in her chair to nod to him. “It gives my mind a break. Do you need me to get Optimus? He’s due back in the next twenty minutes—his class will be over soon, presuming a student doesn’t have any pressing questions.”

 

“Actually, no. I came to ask you something.” Megatron entered the department properly. “I know that Optimus is gone most of Thanksgiving week, but unfortunately my fleet of TAs are all going home, so would you like to work with me that week?”

 

She tilted her head. “I’m not assigned to the poli-sci department.”

 

“It would all be under the table,” he said comfortably. “But I do need help compiling the semester review for my History of Race Relations class, and you wouldn’t make it deliberately more difficult.”

 

She considered it. “All right,” she shrugged. “I didn’t have any major plans for Thanksgiving week, anyway.”

 

“In that case.” He examined her. “You don’t want to go home?”

 

She shrugged uncomfortably, but she was grateful that Optimus had kept her secrets. “It’s all right, but I like to keep my visits home brief and, um, distant.”

 

“Difficult at home?”

 

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Well, you know, you adjust to living on your own and then you return home, and it’s like you’re too big for the space.”

 

How poetic. “I understand that.” He looked her over. She looked better than when he had seen her a few days ago; the near-omnipresent shadows under her eyes had faded to grey tones, and her hair was neat in its crown braid. “If you need a place to be on Thanksgiving, my home is open to you.”

 

She restrained a flinch. “I—appreciate the offer, sir. But I enjoy the quiet.”

 

Her introversion would be a problem. But perhaps, he supposed, it could be helpful in its own way. She would shrink from public—no, it might be too much to expect. She wanted to be a diplomat, and if Starscream’s absent comments were anything to go by, she wanted to accomplish a great deal, nearly all of which would take place in the public eye. “Well, it’s of no concern. Just show up to my office when you normally would for Optimus, classes aren’t canceled until Wednesday.”

 

“Would you like me to be there Wednesday?” she inquired. “I can.”

 

“Let’s see how it goes. Optimus’ flight is due to land that day, but depending on weather conditions, it may be delayed.”

 

She nodded. “I understand.” She rolled her shoulders. “Thank you, Professor.”

 

“You’re very welcome, Windblade.”

 

\--

 

_6 Weeks Down_

 

Windblade rolled over in bed to face the wall. It was getting to be time for her to get her IUD replaced; she would get tested at the same time. Velocity had kindly offered to do it for her the following week, and Windblade shifted restlessly.

 

It had been a _long_ time since she had had sex, and her stress levels were such that the release would be welcome. She had had the passing thought while fixing dinner a few hours earlier, which of course had invited her dormant libido to wake the fuck up, pun very much intended.

 

Chromia and Nautica had retired to bed, and Windblade stared at the ceiling. She was never loud, but somehow they always knew whenever she indulged in some jilling off.

 

She weighed the knowing looks and Nautica’s innuendos the following day versus immediate relief, and decided it wasn’t worth it.

 

She rolled back over. Nope.

 

Thirty minutes later, she was pressing her thighs together and thumping her head against her pillow. Normally, her self-control was enough that she could fall asleep, but she was too well-rested for it to work that time. Come _on_ , she begged herself. Solus, please let her sleep.

 

Solus remained silent, like She had been since Windblade had gone to college.

 

Finally, Windblade got up and went to the bathroom. She washed her hands extensively and grabbed a washcloth, and she padded back into the room. The damp cloth went into a plastic bowl, and she picked up the bottle of lube and considered her toys. She went with the vibrating dildo and laid down on the bed. She wiggled out of her pajama pants and panties, and then she waited. Her arousal had nattered at her; let it decide what her fantasy would be.

 

Her eyes slipped closed, and she heard Starscream’s raspy voice in her ear. (Of course). “Have you missed me?”

 

_Of course I’ve missed you. You were always good with your hands._

 

“Just my hands, hm?” Fantasy Starscream was amused. “Nothing else.”

 

She turned to face him. _Well, your mouth wasn’t too bad either_.

 

“Some would say you use your fingers or mouth if that’s all you have, but you and I both know better.” She imagined his hands running down her sides, deliberately avoiding her breasts or upper thighs, and she arched when his hands—her hands—circled her hipbones before pressing in deeply. “Tell me what you want. This is your fantasy.”

 

Fantasy Starscream was self-aware. Great.

 

 _Talk to me_ , she managed. _You always have plans for what you want._

 

His face was so close to her, her ear tingled at the imagining of his breath against it. She didn’t fantasize often, as her imagination wasn’t good enough. Except, apparently, for sex.

 

“I always do like you on your back,” he mused. “So open and...vulnerable.” His hand trailed against her stomach, and her skin went all over in goosebumps. “Can we get rid of your shirt? It’s just getting in the way.”

 

She yanked her shirt over her head and dropped it on the side of the bed. Her nipples hardened in the cold, and Starscream’s trademark rasp dropped into a lower register. “Touch your nipples and twist them just a bit.”

 

She was a little afraid of pain, but she trusted him, even a shade of him. Her hands fumbled for her breasts, and she took hold of her nipples delicately between her thumb and forefinger, and started to--.

 

“Lift, and _then_ twist.”

 

She obeyed, and a small gasp escaped her at the pinpricks of pain amongst the roaring pleasure. She did it twice more, and Starscream was groaning in her ear. “Yeah, like that.”

 

She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from groaning with him. She moved one hand—imagining it as his hand—and moved it to start to glance her fingertips against her clit. The combination of pain/pleasure from her breasts and her clit was oversensitive as a result, and she bit her lip. _Then what?_

 

“I’m going to put one finger in,” he mumbled, and she braced the bottoms of her feet against the bed. His finger—her finger—slid in with no resistance, and he massaged her internal walls in search of the elusive g-spot. They found it, and she pressed her lips together to keep from making a noise. “More. I’m going to do more.”

 

An additional finger was added and slid in up to the knuckle, and her back arched off the bed. “Do you like this?” he was barely able to string words together, she could affect him so strongly, but the fingers had established a rhythm and she was writhing. “Me with my fingers up your--?”

 

 _Don’t_.

 

She imagined him brushing her cheek with his chapped lips. “Sorry. Forgot how much you hated that word.” A third finger, and it was just on one side of too much, but she spread her legs and it was fine—no, more than fine, it was _wonderful_. She was getting too close, and she pulled a little harder on her nipple than she was comfortable with, and the pain tamped down her onrushing orgasm. “Not ready yet?”

 

 _No_.

 

Her hands fumbled for the dildo—she needed the break from stimulation, and she takes a quarter’s worth of lube and smoothed it onto the dildo. She was wet enough, but just to be sure—it could be uncomfortable. “How do you want me?” She could feel Starscream’s body heat. How was that possible?

 

_On top._

 

“As you wish.”

 

She flicked the switch on the dildo—she managed to catch it with the edge of her nail instead of fumbling her slick finger along it—and she put herself back in the fantasy. Starscream was leaning over her, braced on his hands, which were framing her shoulders. Her legs were too far apart to wrap around his waist, but it allowed for him to have a better angle.

 

He flicked the tip of her nose, and she was startled that she felt that ghost of a touch. “You’re thinking too much.”

 

_So make me stop thinking._

 

He flat-out grinned at her. “I was waiting for your invitation.” He was situated, and he thrust forward. The first movement was the most awkward—it was fumbled on both their ends, and then they both got comfortable and found a rhythm. She wished he was actually present; she liked touching him while they had sex, and while kissing could be awkward, it was still _nice_.

 

“How am I doing?”

 

 _You could be doing better_. She tilted her neck to flash her eyes at him, and his eyes narrowed at the challenge. His hand slipped down her body to find her clit, and he set up a disparate rhythm between his thrusts. She stifled a moan, he always knew how to play her body best.

 

“Well?”

 

 _Better_.

 

His grin flashed in the darkness. “Wonderful. Now sing.”

 

She obeyed, her back arching in a perfect bow, and through it all, he watched her with his dark eyes, and when she collapsed back onto the bed, he leaned down to kiss her forehead. “For reference, that would be more fun with _actual_ me.”

 

 _Yes_ , she replied breathlessly, _but it’s not yet time._

 

He rolled his eyes at her and was gone, and she smiled into the dark before reaching for the cloth. She needed to be clean.

 

\--

 

“You’re wrong,” Percy said flatly. “You’re an astrophysicist, not a chemist, and I am telling you that you are wrong, because here are the chemical equations and you are not getting the results you want.”

 

Starscream stared at the whiteboard. “But what about--.”

 

“I already checked for pressure and vacuum, as well as temperature,” Percy’s voice was rising. Starscream brought that out in him. “You are not getting the result you want, so stop asking me to redo the experiment.”

 

Starscream pouted. “But--.”

 

“I am not going to waste my time on this fool’s errand any longer.”

 

“Kick me while I’m down, Percy.”

 

“If you are down, it is because you put yourself there,” Percy said severely.

 

“Fine, fine!” Starscream held up his hands. “You seem bitchy today.”

 

“And misogyny flows from you like milk from the jug,” Percy intoned.

 

“You _know_ that’s not what I meant.”

 

“Intent does not erase the act.” Percy wandered over to the whiteboard and started to erase the chemical equations. He had his own research to get back to, but Starscream kept co-opting him.

 

Starscream followed after him. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing, I just—I’m tired,” Percy said. It was not, technically, a lie—he had not been sleeping well—but he was not sure why he felt so irascible, and for all of their...warmth in the past weeks, they did not have the relationship where Percy talked at Starscream about his feelings until he understood them.

 

That was what he preferred to do with Windblade, but she had begged off for the past week due to essays and research. He did not blame her, but he missed her.

 

“You don’t have to lie,” Starscream said, a touch acerbically. “You can just tell me to piss off.”

 

“Fine.” Percy turned on his heel to stare Starscream down. “Piss off, Starscream.”

 

Starscream grinned. “You’re learning. Let’s go get some food. Windblade would have my head on a stick if I hassled you and then didn’t feed you for your trouble.”

 

“So am I throwing myself on her mercies, or yours?”

 

“Definitely hers—she actually possesses them.”

 

Percy considered that. “Fair enough.” He picked up his laptop and put it away, and across from him, Starscream was packing away his own things, and Percy made sure to wipe the board clean. They were not the only ones to use that particular room, and it was rude to leave their mess behind.

 

There was a mess hall not too far from the science complex, and they wandered over in that direction, occasionally exchanging barbs but largely walking in silence. Before then, Percy had never considered that Starscream was capable of silence, but Starscream had been surprising him in many ways over the past few weeks.

 

However, they did have very little to talk about outside of their respective friendships and research, and Percy was not quite looking forward to an entire meal without an additional person from their friend group as a buffer. They entered the mess hall, and Percy hitched his bag up a little higher on his shoulder.

 

“Percy! Starscream!” They both turned to see Nautica’s distinctive purple at one of the corner tables, and Percy and Starscream exchanged smirks before heading over to her. “Yeah, please. Leave your stuff before you go get food.”

 

“Thanks,” Starscream told her, dropping his bag into a chair carelessly.

 

“They’ve got roast beef,” Nautica told them cheerfully. “It’s not too bad.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Percy said, a little nauseated at the thought.

 

“We’ll be back,” Starscream informed her.

 

She waved them off. “Go.”

 

Percy made a beeline for the sandwich station while Starscream went elsewhere, and Percy returned first. Nautica put her phone away and leaned on her elbows. “So are you two ready to murder each other yet?”

 

“We have not yet reached that point of enmity,” Percy replied dryly. “Why, are you lonesome for my company?”

 

“Stormy misses you,” Nautica’s eyes were flashing with mischief. “He scared poor Wheeljack near to death.”

 

“How so?”

 

“Well, he nearly blew up the lab twice over the last few weeks. It was lucky all of the windows are able to be open, otherwise I’m not sure the university would let him continue his experiments on university ground.”

 

“How did he scare Wheeljack?” Percy shifted his chair slightly as Starscream slid into his, and Starscream’s head came up.

 

“Something scared _Wheeljack?_ ”

 

“Brainstorm,” Nautica sighed in the most dramatic long-suffering way she could, and Percy tucked his smile away. He had missed her playful dramatics.

 

“That makes more sense. What happened?” Starscream stabbed at his roast beef with his fork, and Nautica leaned in.

 

“Well, Brainstorm’s been offhandedly—it’s not official, mind you—trying to find a way to make those electric plant things a bit more... _exciting_. He introduced some volatiles into the mixture as Wheeljack was coming by, and the plants, um, well--.”

 

“Exploded,” Starscream’s voice was droll.

 

“But only as Wheeljack leaned down to examine them. He lost his eyebrows.”

 

Percy coughed to hide his instinctive snort. “I can see why that would terrify him.”

 

Nautica turned an imploring gaze on him. “Please say you’ll come back? Stormy doesn’t really...listen to me. He’s already impressed me, so therefore I hold no power over his behavior. He still wants _your_ approval.”

 

Starscream clapped him on the shoulder, and it didn’t even hurt. “You’re free to do what you want.”

 

“I knew _that_.” Percy rolled his eyes at the both of them. “I’ll consider it.”

 

Nautica brightened. “Thanks!”

 

“It is of no concern.” Percy applied himself to his sandwich and nearly missed Starscream’s next question.

 

“What’s the latest scandal to rock the Engineering department?”

 

“Currently, none.” Nautica giggled at Starscream’s expression. “I know, right? It’s rare for it to be so quiet. I expect that once it comes time to dissertation and thesis defense, we’ll be awash in gossip and scandal, so I’m going to savor the quiet while I can.”

 

“A sound plan,” Percy nodded in approval. Being a recent figure of department gossip himself, he relished the quiet. Skyfire had re-established his department research, and most of the department had remembered that Skyfire’s research had helped to bring national attention to them, and had quickly acted in support of him. Percy knew the limits of his own ambition, and so he understood what their department was doing. They had finally stopped staring and whispering, though, and that made him more comfortable in walking amongst them.

 

They had continued whispering when he and Starscream had started to work together, but at least not where he could hear—or see. All in all, he would be grateful to graduate. He wanted that particular chapter of his life closed with finality.

 

Starscream and Nautica chatted, showing a deeper relationship than he thought they had possessed, and he finished his sandwich in record time. Nautica noticed, and asked, “Is that enough food, Percy?”

 

“It is,” Percy assured her. “I need to go grocery shopping, and I’d like to go before the local schools get out and the mothers decide to go.”

 

“Oh, by all means,” Nautica reached out and squeezed Percy’s arm. “I’ll see you soon?”

 

Her concern touched him, and he covered her hand with his own and squeezed. “Yes.”

 

“My birthday’s coming up,” Nautica let him go. “December 10th. We didn’t do anything for it last year, but I think we should do something this year. Maybe a gathering to do holidays or something.”

 

“That sounds fine,” Starscream lounged in his chair. “I like it.”

 

“It sounds like an excuse to get together and eat until we’re rolling home,” Percy observed.

 

“Oh, if we’re lucky, we might get Windy to have some hooch.” Nautica’s eyes were on Starscream, and he grimaced. “She’s all kinds of fun when that happens.”

 

“Maybe if you ask her nicely, she’ll do it for your birthday,” Percy didn’t know the context, but if it tweaked Starscream’s tail, he was all right with it.

 

Nautica brightened. “Maybe she will! Anyway, go ahead and go. Those soccer moms can be vicious.”

 

“Indeed.” Simply to make Nautica giggle again, he shuddered theatrically, and he was rewarded.

 

“Have a good day.”

 

Starscream’s gaze was measuring. Did the man never stop plotting? “You too.”

 

\--

 

Skywarp and Thundercracker had already gone to bed when Starscream got in that night. It wasn’t _very_ late for any of them, but midterms had tired all of them. Starscream plugged his laptop in to charge and started to strip, and his mind wandered.

 

He had barely seen Windblade all week—her excuse to Percy was her excuse to him. He knew it was genuine, but something bothered him. The way she looked at him was different, and while she was not a clingy, affectionate person, there was a greater softness to her whenever they talked. While he still enjoyed their sparring—and he knew she did as well—the edge that lurked behind it so many months ago was gone.

 

No, the change of whatever it was, it was a positive one. He just wished he knew what it was.

 

He pulled on a soft shirt and flopped down on the bed. Megatron had done as he had asked, asking Windblade to assist him Thanksgiving week. Megatron had asked all of his TAs to give him Thanksgiving week, as he appreciated that time to pull together his various exams and reviews, and so for Megatron, it was a lot for him to give up the week he so cherished.

 

Starscream was aware that Megatron would ask for something in return, but he was unconcerned. Megatron never asked more than what he was capable of giving himself.

 

Nautica’s idea for a friend holiday party was a good one, and he idly considered what to get Windblade. He had something he wanted to give her, but not publicly, and so for a public gift exchange, it would need to be playful, something that would embarrass her, but not too much.

 

He _could_ get her a sex toy, he reflected, but that would be crossing a line. No, perhaps a game that was, by definition, bawdy would work. He would think about it another time.

 

The consideration of sex toys reminded him of Windblade’s own, and how he had yet to see her use them in his presence. He shifted on the bed. He hadn’t gotten a very good look at them, but he did recall how she looked naked, and it was enough to make his cock twitch.

 

He pondered how he would want her. Her going down on him would be agreeable, but he suspected she didn’t care for it. They had yet to discuss it, but he wondered if there was something distasteful in it for her.

 

He snorted. Dis _taste_ ful.

 

He liked her on her back or her knees, but he thought for that particular night he wanted her on top. She liked it, though she didn’t hold his wrists down. He hadn’t expressly said he liked it, and she was wary of control, so maybe—

 

It gave him an idea of what to give her, but he put it out of his head and focused on the fantasy.

 

He closed his eyes and imagined that she was there. After a moment, he had her full image--she was wearing that red and black bra he loved with matching panties, but nothing else. He wanted to see her in a corset and stockings, but that was a request for another time. She wore bright red lipstick—her usual—but her hair was down, and it cascaded down her back. She pressed her forefinger to her lips, and he nodded.

 

With a palm’s worth of lotion, he started to run his hand up his shaft. He didn’t want to make it fast; imagining Windblade’s hands on his dick was enough to get him hard. He flicked the head with the pad of his thumb, and she smiled shyly at him before taking over. She looked so intent, and he felt an upsurge of fondness for her, despite the fact that she wasn’t actually present. She never left him wanting.

 

He shifted his hips and upped the speed just a little bit. Windblade’s mouth flattened as she focused further, and he relaxed. That was what he needed, really—he missed Windblade’s hands on him and his...everything.

 

She flicked the head of his cock, and he jerked in her—well, really his—hands. She smiled absently, her eyes flicking up to meet his, and his heart squeezed at the knowing look in her brilliant eyes. Her tongue wet her lips, and his cock jerked. He might as well just label himself Windblade-sexual and be done with it.

 

He snorted. Imagine what Skyfire would have said to _that_.

 

She returned to her attention to his dick, and he was starting to wish he had grabbed a tissue. His orgasm was coming, and he—

 

He removed his hands and shimmied out of his boxers. In his mind, Windblade moved aside, and then she helped him out of his shirt. Once he was clear of them, they both returned to his cock, and his lower stomach tightened as his orgasm came closer.

 

“Please,” he groaned, the first real vocalization he had made, and Windblade’s smile turned mischievous. Her speed went higher, and honestly, it didn’t take him much to get close when that was all he needed to focus on was himself.

 

His orgasm slammed into him, and his come splattered over his thighs and lower stomach. He was still going to need that tissue, but at least it wasn’t on his clothes. He started to reach for a tissue, but he paused when his mental image of Windblade ran her fingers through the mess and licked them clean.

 

If he hadn’t just come...

 

She winked at him, and then he dispersed the fantasy. Well, more like dispersed with one fantasy only to find another.

 

It may have been tremendously sentimental, but as he cleaned himself up and found his clothes again, he admitted that that was his favorite part of his relationship with Windblade—she was full of surprises, and he looked forward to finding out more of them. She was interesting, and he felt like his life was better.

 

He made a low noise. That was far too sentimental for him, and he turned over and went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The documentary Windblade refers to is called "Titanic's Final Mystery," and yes, the dude who ran it did make finding out what _really_ happened to the Titanic his life's work, so. It's about an hour and a half and it's actually really fascinating, so if you have an hour and a half to spare, I recommend it.
> 
> ELECTRIC PLANTS ARE A THING. [Here is what you need to know, if you're curious about all the things the way I am](http://www.bldgblog.com/2015/11/electronic-plantlife/).
> 
> Please feed the author.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did a dumb.
> 
> I somehow screwed up my chapter numbering system, and I thought I posted this when SURPRISE, I hadn't.
> 
> I'm so sorry, y'all. Without this chapter, it undoes a lot of the character development I had been working toward, so really. I'm sorry.
> 
> This chapter covers the third and fourth week of November.

**CHAPTER SIX: HUMDRUM HOLIDAYS**

 

_6 Weeks Down_

 

Windblade hummed to herself as she waited for Megatron. She had some questions on the case they were writing up, with an additional essay portion that discussed the influence of the case on current international law. The official case that Megatron had assigned the class was _Soering v. United Kingdom_ , but Windblade wondered if she could use a different case.

 

Megatron stuck his head outside the door. “Come in.”

 

“Good morning,” she told him, closing the door. He raised his eyebrows at that but sat down. Her university, for all of its scope in departments and coursework, spent their money on things other than professor comfort; she had yet to be in a professor’s office that had a window. “I had some questions about the final paper.”

 

“Of course you did. What are your objections to _Soering v. United Kingdom_?”

 

“What _aren’t_ my objections?” she sighed. “First of all, it was known that Soering planned the murders. If it was a crime of passion, I could sympathize better. Secondly, the entire case hinged on the death penalty. Had the prosecutors of the case in Virginia managed to meet or communicate with the necessary commission and took the death penalty off the sentencing table, I feel like they would have extradited him!”

 

“It’s Virginia,” he reminded her.

 

“Still!”

 

“So what case would you rather do? I’m assuming you have a back-up.” He steepled his fingers and stared at her over them, and with a small swallow, she reached into her bag and retrieved a packet.

 

“I was looking at the Pinochet case. You mentioned it in class, and I got curious, so I looked it up, and I found some links for how the Pinochet case changed how the international law community responded to those kind of cases, but I have admit, the disconnect between legal reasoning and moral reasoning bothers me.”

 

“How so?”

 

She shifted and slid the packet over to him. He glanced at it, but returned his attentions to her. “It’s one of my issues with the _Soering_ case too,” she admitted, “but there’s a clear moral impetus in these cases. Pinochet committed genocide, and Spain wanted him so they could try him.”

 

“And kill him.”

 

“So they execute him. What’s the bad thing about that? He’s evil.”

 

Megatron stroked his chin. “You can’t prove evil in a court of law.”

 

“Yes, you can,” she was very firm on that. “Look at what he did—the deaths he ordered, the violence he condoned. Motive matters, and you can _prove_ motive. Motive showcases moral judgment, so you _can_ try evil in a court of law.”

 

“That’s extraneous,” he shook his head. “Yes, I follow your logic, but it’s easier to prove that someone ordered or performed the deaths themselves rather than lack of moral fiber. Most lawyers wouldn’t do it. And to be fair to the House of Lords, they did find torture to be such a morally reprehensible crime that it superseded his immunity to prosecution as a former head of state.”

 

“Yeah, but he was allowed to avoid extradition based on his fragile health. Who cares? Surely the families of his victims supersede that.”

 

“My, what a vengeful person you are.” He flashed her a smile, though, and she could tell he approved. “And don’t forget the role that the United States played in placing him in his position of power initially.”

 

“Yeah, no wonder they didn’t want him to go to trial,” she groused, “they were afraid his trial would bring out the more unsavory aspects of their behavior.”

 

“The truth shall set you free.”

 

“No,” she disagreed, enjoying the light argument. “ _Justice_ will set you free. We know about all kinds of horrible things that have happened, but it’s not until people are held accountable that people can truly find peace.”

 

“You’re presuming that crimes have singular persons that are the causes.” Megatron shrugged. “Crimes of societal scales, whether we wish to acknowledge it or not, represent the values of that society. How do you successfully put a society on trial? You don’t. You find a scapegoat and therefore allow that society turn away in a mixture of guilt and relief. No one likes to remember that Coretta Scott King sued the United States government for assassinating Martin Luther King, Jr., and won. Otherwise, it pinches where we sit.”

 

“People who have been wronged deserve to find closure, though,” Windblade argued. “Scapegoat or not. Societal scale crimes may have society as indirect perpetrators, but there _were_ direct perpetrators that can be punished, and should. While deterrence theory is largely useless, it can be turned into such a national shame that it never happens again.”

 

“No, that doesn’t work well either,” Megatron dismissed. “Or just finds different victims.”

 

She sighed. “We are never going to solve racism, are we.”

 

Megatron shook his head. “Not for a very long time, not while most Global North countries refuse to acknowledge their racial wounds.” He rested his face in his hand. “You know, I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say in one sitting before.”

 

She flushed. “Oh—I—uh.”

 

“It’s not bad,” he assured her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that animated. Why don’t you want to go to law school? Admittedly, I think you’d get into trouble when you realize you can’t try morality, but...”

 

She quieted for a moment. Why did everyone want to know why she wasn’t approaching a career in law? Why couldn’t they accept she just _didn’t want to?_ “I—there’s a certain, um, ego to decide to go into law, and I just don’t have it. And that ego fuels this...competition,” she spread her hands in some confusion, “and I’m just not interested in it. The law in and of itself doesn’t really interest me; I like it when it does what it’s supposed to.”

 

“Which is?”

 

She bit her lip in thought. She hadn’t ever really put it into words before, and explaining her personal stance regarding law as a concept to _Megatron_ was a little intimidating. “In a perfect world, law protects the vulnerable and punishes those who exploit them.”

 

“In a perfect world, law would not be necessary for that,” Megatron noted.

 

“You asked me a question, I’m answering,” she said. “Logistical problems with my hypotheticals or not.”

 

“Fair point. Continue.”

 

“Law, as a concept, is supposed to do that. It’s supposed to protect those who need it. But law in practice is something else entirely, and I don’t have the emotional energy to constantly flux between the two. I mean, it’s great when the Supreme Court affirms marriage equality, but then it also strips out a significant part of the Voting Rights Act. The constant seesawing between moving toward social justice and away is...exhausting.” She shook her head.

 

“There’s no challenge in finding ways to change and twist the law according to what _you_ feel is right?”

 

“My feelings are founded in my context,” she argued. “They don’t apply to everyone, nor shouldn’t they. It’s not fair _or_ just for me to take my circumstances and apply the lessons of them to everyone. Not everyone needs my lessons, just as not every lesson applies to me.” She shrugged. “Besides, I’m human. I’m wrong a lot.”

 

He considered her. “You should take Philosophy of Law.”

 

“No, _thank_ you. I’m not interested in hearing some frat boy apply Aristotle to everything.” She looked at him. “Do you have a law degree?”

 

“No,” he admitted. “My first degree was in political science. When I was a senator, I had someone on my staff who was skilled with constitutional law, and that’s all I cared about.”

 

“So then why...?”

 

“To be sure that _you_ know what you want. I learned it from Optimus.”

 

Windblade closed her eyes. Of course he did. “I do know what I want,” she pointed out. “I’ve been saying it all along. I’ve made decisions along the way, decisions that have hurt my family, to be where I am, and meaning no disrespect, sir, but I’m getting very tired to people thinking I don’t know what I want.”

 

“Allow me to rephrase. You are surrounded by people invested in your future, and they all want to be sure that you know what you want, because going to work in the State department is a career, not a job. I understand that the concern can be cloying, but it is not founded in malice.”

 

Her shoulders slumped. “That’s the worst part,” she admitted. “I know that everyone wants me to be happy, but I don’t want to be happy. I want to work.”

 

“You can’t have both?” He watched her carefully.

 

“I—I’m not accustomed to thinking I can have both.”

 

He shrugged. “Food for thought.”

 

“I—anyway, is it all right if I do the Pinochet case?”

 

“Yes, it’s fine,” he relented. “And thank you for asking.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I?” she blinked at him.

 

“You’d be surprised. I have some stories.”

 

Windblade blinked again. “I don’t think I want to know.”

 

“I wish _I_ didn’t know.” Megatron sighed in the self-suffering manner Starscream had perfected. Windblade suddenly knew where he got it from. “If I may, I have one more question for you.”

 

She restrained the instinctive urge to stiffen. “Okay.”

 

“In the unhappy future where you don’t get what you want, if you could choose any particular field to work in, what would you like to do?”

 

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she thought. “I’d...kind of like to go into public health,” she admitted after a moment. “I took Intro to Public Health a few semesters ago, and it’s more of an administrative thing than a medical thing, but I was kind of struck by how many things go into public health. It’s not just hospitals and clinics and vaccines and all that, though obviously they are a part of it. It’s about access to clean food and fighting food scarcity and education and all other parts of society that contribute to the health of an individual, and in return it makes the society healthier. That matters to me.” She sighed. She had already opened the topic, might as well finish it. “I look at cities like they’re living things, and they are, in a way. Everything that I’ve mentioned are like various parts of the body—water and food are the blood, hospitals are the immune system, education is the brain...et cetera. Public health is about maintaining the body of society as a whole.”

 

“I’ve never heard it described that way,” Megatron was entertained. “I’ll have to pass that onto Ratchet, I think he’d appreciate it.”

 

“Oh god,” she covered her face with her hands. “That’s always been my worst fear, that unrelated teachers talk about me.”

 

“We do,” he confirmed with a wicked grin. “Trust me, we do.”

 

“Oh no.” She started to pack up her bag. “Please don’t tell me what you say.”

 

He rose. “Have a good day, Windblade.”

 

“You too, professor.”

 

\--

 

Starscream wandered through the library in an abstract search for Windblade. He had seen her briefly over the weekend, but mid-semester work had completely co-opted her. Not that he was any better, but he wanted to bother her. The frustrated look she had, with her eyebrows furrowed and pursed lips was something that gave him the will to get up in the morning.

 

He found her in a study nook on the third floor, bent over a textbook. Her hair was in a loose knot at the back of her head, and he draped himself over her shoulders. She flinched violently at the touch, and she looked at him before calming down. “Starscream,” she greeted in a whisper. “Why are you here?”

 

He ignored the question in favor of focusing on her notes. “The Salimoff case was more about government recognition than eminent domain,” he murmured in her ear, and he was rewarded by her shudder. “You must be tired, come walk with me.”

 

A blush was creeping up the back of her neck, and he watched it from the corner of his eye with every kind of delight. “You’re going to draw attention to us,” she hissed.

 

“So come walk with me, and we won’t.” He covered one of her hands with his, and she scowled at him.

 

“I have _work_.”

 

“It’s past ten,” his lips were brushing against her ear, and she was trembling slightly. Perfect. “Everyone’s brain stops working past ten.”

 

“You and I both have habits of pulling all nighters at need,” she reminded him.

 

“But you don’t need,” he pointed out. “So come walk with me.”

 

“You’re not going to get off me until I say yes, are you.”

 

“You haven’t told me _no_. You’ve been providing...excuses. Do you want me to go away?”

 

Her hand flexed under his, and he hid his smirk. “No,” she sighed. “Get off so I can pack up.”

 

He stood upright, and she finished writing her note before closing the notebook. He idled as she put her things away, and he deliberately stood close enough that when she swiveled out of her chair, she almost ran into him. It gave him the excuse of grabbing onto her arms to keep her from falling, and they locked gazes.

 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you did there,” she informed him in an undertone as he took a step back so that she could step away from him. “That was manipulative.”

 

“Yer a manipulator, Harry,” he deadpanned, and she snorted.

 

“Shhhh,” her nearest neighbor hissed. She waved apologetically and chivvied him out, and once they were in the elevator, she shoved him.

 

“You could have texted me.”

 

“But then we would have been denied this glorious reunion,” he leaned down to take her hand, and she stared at him while he pressed the most delicate of kisses to her chapped knuckles. “Why would you have denied yourself the...” he waited _just_ a beat, “pleasure?”

 

Her cheeks flared scarlet at the insinuation, and she jerked her hand away from him. The elevator stuttered to a stop, and she left him in the elevator as she stalked away from him. He stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered after her. She wasn’t _truly_ irritated, and she would be waiting for him at the front door.

 

He nodded to some of the people in his urban planning class as he exited, and sure enough, she was standing at the base of the steps with her arms crossed and tapping her foot. “You wanted to go on a walk.”

 

“I did,” he agreed cheerfully. He offered her his arm, and after a moment, she looped her arm through his. “Isn’t it a lovely night?”

 

“I was enjoying the slight chill,” she mourned. “It’s gone, in exchange for the omnipresent humidity and heat.”

 

“But the wind is blowing,” he said reasonably, nudging her over to walk through the main courtyard, that jewel of the recruitment pamphlets. “What’s heat to a pleasant breeze?”

 

She eyed him, and he felt amusement rising at her suspicion. “Why are you fucking with me?”

 

“I’d rather--.”

 

“ _Starscream._ ”

 

He held up his hands. “I like teasing you.”

 

Her eyes narrowed, and she stooped to drop her bag onto the cobblestones. While he watched, she jumped onto the lip of the fountain and planted her hands on her hips. It gave her an opportunity to loom over him, but all he noticed was how her waist curved and how perfectly his hands would fit over her hips. “You’re rarely this playful, and you’re never playful without an edge to it. What’s going on?”

 

“I’m playful enough,” he said in injured tones. “Do you like to be tall?”

 

Her lush mouth set, and he gazed at her crimson lips. “What’s going on?”

 

He decided he didn’t like it that she was both frowning and looming over him, so he jumped onto the fountain’s bench to join her. The sound of the splashing water momentarily quieted them both, and Windblade tucked her skirt around her to keep water from getting onto it. He swooped down to capture her hands, and her eyes widened when he placed one of them on his shoulder, and grasped the other one. “S-Starscream?”

 

“I wanted to know if I could be playful without needing to needle you,” he told her, moving her around so that their feet could be placed just right. She let him, and he hummed as he tried to remember the right count. 1-- _2_ \--3. That was right. “I can, and the fact that you’re reading malice hurts me, it really does.” His smirk stretched into a playful smile to remove the sting of his words. She finally relaxed in his hold, and when she glanced up at him, he was startled at the flash of her tongue in her smirk.

 

That was almost worthy of his.

 

“I’m not sure this ledge is big enough for the two of us,” she observed as they circled the fountain.

 

“It was big enough for you.”

 

“But you might notice that I’m almost a foot shorter than you.”

 

“I had noticed,” he said agreeably, and she blinked up at him with a slight pout.

 

“Careful,” she warned as he turned them. “The footing’s a little--.”

 

“We’ll be--.” His foot caught in the crack in the cement bench, and his hands tightened on her in an attempt to catch himself, but she had been leaning forward anyway, and they fell into the three foot deep fountain with a loud splash.

 

The water slowed their not-fast-at-all descent enough that he managed to impressively not hit his head on the side of the fountain, the bottom of the fountain, or the fountain itself. He did, however, smack his elbow rather badly, and he inhaled water when he yelped. Windblade had fallen with him, but her weight was off of him almost immediately, and she hauled him upright. He sputtered through the burning sensation in his nose, and he almost missed a suspicious noise as he tried to remember what it felt like to breathe without water in his nose or mouth.

 

Windblade was _laughing_. Not only was she laughing, it was something bigger than her usual giggles, and she was curled over the ledge of the fountain, her cheeks red with mirth and her hair utterly soaked. He stared at her in bemusement, and she managed to control her hilarity to stammer, “You sh-should’ve seen your... _face_!” Statement made, her coherency was reduced to gales of laughter.

 

In fast-turning grumpiness, he splashed her, and she cut her eyes to him. There was something there, something that almost made him afraid, and she turned on him. She lunged for him, dunking him under the probably contaminated water until he came back up. She wasn’t the type to playfully drown him, but their wrestling was causing whatever hadn’t been soaked in the initial fall to cling to their bodies in new and interesting ways.

 

Starscream _hated_ wet shoes with a vengeance.

 

“All right, all right, stop,” he said finally. Windblade had pushed away from him to get a better angle to splash him from, and her hair was in straggles from her braid. Her eyeliner was running just a little, but somehow her lipstick was fine.

 

She still looked beautiful. Maybe it was the laughter that kept burbling out of her mouth and lighting up her eyes like unrefined cobalt. Maybe it was his rising weakness to sentimentality. Either way, he needed to get out of the fountain.

 

“Fine,” she giggled, pushing herself to stand. She carefully climbed onto the ledge, and then she braced her feet before offering him her hands. He took them and they moved off the fountain proper together. “We probably should leave before campus security wants to ask us strange questions.”

 

“Come back to my dorm, we can take showers and then I’ll drive you home.”

 

She nudged him with a grin. “So maybe not what you had in mind, but it was fun anyway.”

 

He nudged her back. “I’ll agree with you after my shoes have stopped sloshing.”

 

“Technically your fault,” she grabbed his hand; they were both too damp and starting to turn clammy to want to lean against each other. “ _I_ never fall off fountain ledges.”

 

“You did that one time,” he needed to say. “I caught you. It was very romcom of us, I think.”

 

“You’d know.”

 

He made a face at her, to which she responded by _giggling_ , and then they resumed walking in companionable silence. She had looped her bag’s strap over her shoulder gingerly, and her other hand was wound in the handle to prevent it from bouncing against her wet clothing. He caught himself observing how her black shirt clung to her breasts, and he made himself look away.

 

His jeans were clinging to everything. If he got too hard, she would know. Moreover, it would be _incredibly_ uncomfortable. Wet jeans and erections did not mix.

 

“That was fun,” she said as they approached Nemesis. “I wish we could do that more often.”

 

“What, play in fountains? You don’t like to swim.”

 

“No, no,” she shook her head, her hair flying with the movement. “Wrestle.”

 

It was so unexpected to hear her discuss that in her usual even tone that he walked into a pole.

 

“Are you all right?!”

 

“Fine,” he grumbled, rubbing his forehead. “I just didn’t expect _that_.”

 

Her cheeks turned pink; that was more normal. “I’m glad I can still be unpredictable.”

 

“I’m not against it,” he assured her as he opened the door. She slid inside--literally slid--and he followed after. “It might be more fun without the fountain. And the clothes.”

 

“Would you prefer the both of us well oiled?” she asked sweetly, and it was only her hand on his arm that kept him from walking into the second pole of the evening.

 

“It would make other things easier,” he leered after his mind caught up.

 

“Or harder,” she considered, “well,” her eyes skated obviously downward, “maybe not _harder_.”

 

He was _not_ feeling the pinpricks of embarrassment. “Oh, I don’t know. A little bit of oil, a bit of wrestling, that’s hard enough for anyone.”

 

“Anyone, hm?” her voice was pert. “I had presumed we were the only ones invited.”

 

“If you wanted to invite someone else to the...party, I’m sure I could find myself flexible enough.” It was rare for their banter to be this sexual, and he was tempted to continue it just to see who would break first. Judging from how the pink of Windblade’s cheeks was deepening, he suspected it would be her.

 

“I hadn’t considered flexibility to be one of your virtues.”

 

Maybe not.

 

“I can be flexible in the right circumstances,” the elevator came to a stop and he made a face as he pulled his room key out of his pocket. “Of course, we’ve never truly tested my virtues.”

 

“I was unaware you possessed them,” she agreed. “Though I wouldn’t invite virtue to the oiled wrestling party.”

 

“No, only vices. But that only works if you actually have them.”

 

Her mouth twisted wryly. “I have my share. I thought you--.”

 

“Holy fuck, what the hell happened to you two?!” Skywarp blurted as they crossed over the dorm room threshold. Starscream was disappointed; he really wanted to win that particular contest.

 

“We became acquainted with the campus fountain,” Windblade said breezily, “because the astrophysicist here couldn’t accurately judge how force and acceleration worked in a small space.”

 

“Hey!” Exchanging dirty banter was one thing, insulting his science was something else.

 

“Are you two okay?” Skywarp wasn’t calming down.

 

“I’ve got a nasty bruise on my elbow, but other than that, we’re fine. Is Thundercracker here?”

 

“Yah, we’re playing Mass Effect. You need him?”

 

“Yes.” Starscream scrubbed his hand through his hair and grimaced at the water.

 

“I’ll get him.”

 

Beside him, Windblade was carefully untangling her hair with visible pain, and he batted her hands away to find her hair tie. He unwound it instead of pulling it off her hair, and with extreme care, he unbraided the ends of her hair. He didn’t bother with trying to undo all the knots, and while her shoulders were tight, she didn’t give any other sign of pain. “I just realized--I don’t have clothes here,” she started.

 

“You do.”

 

“I...do?”

 

“Remember when we went out that one day, and then you had your--well, I never had a chance to return your purchases, so I just...held onto them.” That particular memory loomed large between them for a moment, but then she reached for his wrist and squeezed it.

 

“So I have a skirt and shirt here, but…” she dropped her eyes. “I hate putting on wet, um.”

 

“You can borrow a pair of my boxers,” he said briskly. Then, in an attempt to return to the game they had been playing earlier, he treated her to a particularly lascivious wink. “Besides, having a pair at your house would be good.”

 

Her blush returned full force, and he decided he won that one.

 

“Screamer? What do you need?” Thundercracker looked tired and cranky, a sign that his Mass Effect narrative was not going the way he wanted it to.

 

“I need to borrow your car, after Windblade and me take showers. Is that all right?”

 

“Yeah, let me just grab my keys. Windblade, you okay?”

 

“Yes,” she told him, and Starscream guessed she was touched by his question. She was so easy to please in some ways. “We fell into a fountain.”

 

“I--no, I don’t think I want to know. Wait, maybe I do. Please tell me you shoved him in.”

 

“No, no, it’s better,” Windblade looked askance at him, and that was the revenge for his remark, he just knew it. “He tripped and fell in.”

 

Thundercracker was _delighted_. “Thank you.” He reached out to clasp her hand between his. “I’m so happy to know that.”

 

“Me too,” she told him, and Starscream rolled his eyes.

 

“And that’s my cue. ‘Scuse us, TC.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, Screamer. Least I’ve never fallen into a fountain.”

 

“But you could be pushed into one,” Starscream threatened.

 

“Excuse us, Thundercracker,” Windblade grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the bedroom. “He gets grumpy without adequate...attention.”

 

“Oh, believe me, I know. Take your showers, and once you have, I’ll give you my keys. Oh, and Starscream--I have an early class tomorrow, so I’m going to need it back tonight.”

 

The barb didn’t have the intended effect, if Thundercracker didn’t mean to embarrass Windblade. Starscream just rolled his eyes, while Windblade, whose face had only returned to her normal hue, turned bright red. Starscream wondered idly if that was healthy.

 

The apartment dorm that he, Skywarp, and Thundercracker shared had only one bathroom, and it was kept relatively clean by virtue--if that was the word--of Thundercracker and Starscream both possessing a horror of grime. Skywarp didn’t care, but he handled his side of the cleaning chores with good humor. It also meant that there was no good way to the bathroom discreetly.

 

“You can go first,” Windblade told him as he passed her a towel so that she could sit on the edge of the bed. “This is bothering you a lot more than it is me.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

She shrugged. “You won’t take that long.”

 

“Fair,” he conceded. He went through his drawers to find fresh clothes, and he dropped a pair of his boxers onto her lap. There was also his sweatshirt, and he guessed she would feel more comfortable in a jacket because her bra would be too damp to put back on. In the bottom drawer, he had carefully folded away the loose red skirt and electric blue shirt, and he brought them out. “They’re still--I didn’t--I didn’t see the point in washing them. You women have such different ideas about how to clean clothing.”

 

She nudged him with her foot. “Joking misogyny is still misogyny.”

 

“Whatever.” He gave her the sweatshirt too. “You can put your wet clothes in the bag.”

 

“Thanks.” She looked up at him. “Go shower.”

 

“Fine.” He left the room. Windblade was right, the water from the fountain was not clean and had large amounts of chlorine in it (it was a school legend that the more humiliating fraternities insisted on their pledges getting stone drunk and then pissing in the school fountain. Starscream had never believed it, but the amounts of chlorine on his skin implied otherwise), and he was itchy and unhappy.

 

Showering it all off made him feel a lot better.

 

He eyed his hair hair critically in the mirror. It was getting time for a trim; he had never enjoyed what it took to maintain his hair for what looked to be aesthetically pleasing, and his brief experiment with a small afro was done. He returned to his room, and Windblade rose off the bed. “Is there a towel you would prefer me to use?”

 

He waved a hand. “Any of the dry ones. We don’t really care.”

 

“All right.” She vanished, and he found his phone and plugged it in. He had never really timed her showers before, but he doubted that her current one would be an indicative sample; she was too aware of being in a space that she didn’t see as hers. And it wasn’t, not really. She was a welcome visitor, but she knew there were limits to that welcome. College boys were teenage boys, only without the ‘teen’ in their age.

 

His phone’s calendar reminded him cheerfully that Thanksgiving was the following week, and he wondered what her plans were. Optimus was returning to his usual Thanksgiving plans, despite Megatron’s quiet concern (Megatron only _ever_ did quiet concern), and he knew that Windblade was not going home.

 

That was something to think about later.

 

He dicked around on his phone for the next ten minutes, scanning the weather reports for the following week--it was due to get _really_ cold in the next two days--and checking on another Twitter meltdown. He chuckled to himself at the hashtag that had come out of it, and then Windblade was gently pushing open the door. He hadn’t seen her hair down in so long, so he was startled that it was almost to the middle of her back.

 

His sweatshirt swamped her, and his lips twitched. She pointed at him. “Don’t laugh.”

 

“But you laughed at me with impunity.”

 

“Laughed at _us_ ,” she corrected, running her fingers through her hair. “It was funny, and I think you’ll admit that when your fit of the grumpies has passed.”

 

He raised a brow. “That’s a new one.”

 

“I like it. It works for you _and_ Chromia.”

 

“God forbid.”

 

She stared in quiet horror at her shoes, and Starscream shook his head at her. “Don’t. Here.” He shoved a pair of his athletic socks at her, and she sat down to pull them on. They were thick, so while they wouldn’t protect her feet from sharp pieces of gravel, it would keep her from cutting her soles or anything like that. “Maybe next time we _don’t_ fall into the fountain.”

 

“I’m starting to see the point,” she agreed, “but it was funny, and that makes it worth it. I’ve been so stressed, and--.”

 

“Fine, fine, I see your point.” He waited while she gathered up the last of her belongings, and then they left.

 

“Screamer, think fast!” To Skywarp’s disappointment, Starscream caught the keys, and Windblade sniffed at Skywarp in disdain. “Goodnight, you two.”

 

“See you soon, Skywarp,” Windblade told him as Starscream opened the door.

 

“Yeah, same.”

 

“Has Nautica talked to you about her plans for a winter party yet?” Starscream inquired.

 

“I think she has, but the most we’ve talked about it is doing it probably on the Friday night of finals week, that way everyone’s still here. Thundercracker and Skywarp go home for Christmas, don’t they?”

 

“They do, but Thundercracker has his Engineering final on Friday morning. Skywarp’s last exam is on Wednesday.”

 

“And you?” she asked as they got into Thundercracker’s car.

 

“All of my exams are on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday,” he admitted. “Two of them are on the same day.”

 

“Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday for me.” She looked over at him. “Are you staying here for the holidays?”

 

“Well, actually,” he shifted. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you about, because--.”

 

“Holy shit,” Windblade blurted as a field of emergency beacons filled their line of sight. He jumped at her unexpected curse, and they stared in mutual shock at the three-car pile up. It was a Thursday night, so drunk driving wasn’t _entirely_ a surprise, but one of the cars was wrapped around a light pole and the other two looked like...Starscream squinted. The second car had probably swerved hard to avoid hitting the first, and had slammed into another vehicle. Their combined momentum had taken them into the car at the pole, and he doubted the original driver had walked out of the vehicle.

 

Starscream slowed down just a little. “That was--.”

 

“Yeah,” she said. “Um--anyway, I’ll be heading home for five days to spend Christmas with Mother. I’m not sure I can stand it to be home for longer than that.”

 

“So, what, the twenty-first to the twenty-sixth?”

 

“Yes. And I’m leaving late the twenty-first and coming back as early as I can on the twenty-sixth. So more like...three days and change.” She glanced at him sidelong. “Do I owe you a thank you for talking to Megatron?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with a straight face.

 

“So Megatron, someone that I’ve had a few pleasant conversations with but do not know well very well, just _happened_ to ask me to work with him Thanksgiving week when I know for a fact that he dismisses his TAs for that particular week?” Windblade raised her brows. “Tarn mentioned it after Megatron asked me, that Thanksgiving week is their vacation because Megatron likes the quiet.”

 

“Fine,” he relented. He’d forgotten the TAs talked to each other. “Yes, I asked. But asked _only_ \--he could have said no.”

 

“And he didn’t, so here we are.” And then they were also at her house, and Windblade opened her door. She waited for him to come around the car, waving at two of the neighborhood children, and then she offered him the hand that wasn’t holding her bag of wet clothing. “Chromia and Nautica are going home for Thanksgiving again. Nautica misses her parents.”

 

He shrugged as she walked up the porch steps carefully. “You going to do homework now?”

 

She fluffed out her hair. “I think I’m going to dry my hair and go to bed, actually.” She looked up at him, and his stomach flipped a little at how liquid her eyes looked in the half-light. “You?”

 

“Homework,” he conceded as he ran a hand down her side to hold onto her waist. She trembled slightly at the touch, but her gaze didn’t waver. “But there’s something I’d like to do first.”

 

She held her breath as he leaned down to kiss her, but once he was there, she surged against him until she was resting on her toes with both arms around his neck. She _had_ missed the kissing, and his heat, but work came first (mostly).

 

He enjoyed the press of her body through her layers of clothes, but the only thing that marred it for him was her bag strap, drawn across her chest. Still, he ignored that and swept her off her feet entirely, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Neither of them wanted to break their hold, and he was considering resting her on the porch rail, when they heard, “LEAVE ROOM FOR JESUS!”

 

Windblade choked and snorted at the same time, and Starscream glared over her shoulder at the two boys standing across the street. “Don’t make me tell your grandmother on you!” Windblade called back, unwinding her legs to fall gracefully to the ground. Starscream steadied her while the boys hooted before taking off.

 

“Not the most enjoyable way of getting interrupted,” he grumbled.

 

“There isn’t really an enjoyable way,” she pointed out to him. “Anyway.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

 

“You’d better,” he threatened, “or I’ll come roust you from whatever aerie you’ve secreted yourself in.”

 

“There’s like three separate metaphors in that sentence,” she remarked. “And yes, I promise to be a good girl and be someplace you can easily find me.”

 

Oh, that was just _unfair_. “You are the worst,” he complained.

 

She flashed a quick smirk at him. “Dream of me,” she suggested, and then she ducked inside the house before he could pin her up against the wall. Exhibitionism wasn’t her thing, but she suspected it was his.

 

Chromia was on the couch, reading something on her tablet. “I think that porch has seen more action than the three of us combined,” Chromia commented, powering down her tablet to look over at Windblade, who was steadily reddening. “I’m surprised you and Screamer haven’t set it on fire yet.”

 

“No, of course not. I don’t want to pay to replace it.”

 

Chromia snorted. “Fair point. Hey, question.”

 

“Yeah?” Windblade leaned against the couch arm.

 

“I’ve been looking at rings--you said the thing, and then I couldn’t stop thinking of the thing, so I’m wondering about what kind of setting and--.”

 

“Amethyst.”

 

“Well, _obviously_. But you’re better with this kind of thing than I am--round, oval, princess cut, or square or whatever? There are different cuts, but--I want it to flatter her, you know?”

 

Windblade thought about it. “Slender band, oval or pear shaped cut. And, you know, it doesn’t have to be the hugest stone ever. She works with her hands, so you know.”

 

“I can’t afford a big stone,” Chromia admitted. “Maybe for one of our anniversaries or something. But good point about how she works--I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

 

“I don’t think she’ll care about the size of the stone. I think she’ll just care about the fact that it’s coming from you.” Chromia leaned her head against Windblade’s side, and Windblade patted the top of her head. “So, how soon?”

 

“I don’t know. I’m waiting for it to just flow naturally, you know? While she would love an over-the-top, singing proposal, she’s cheesy enough, _I_ am not.” Chromia looked at her. “If you could choose how Starscream proposed, what would you want?”

 

“I don’t want,” Windblade said, startled. “I don’t want to get married, and I really doubt he does either.”

 

“But if you _did_...c’mon, girl, give me some ideas here.”

 

She hadn’t ever thought about it before. The idea of Starscream and proposing without a ‘hell no’ in the sentence was… “Private,” she said finally. “Someplace special to the both of us, I guess. Not that we really have one, but. There would no getting down on one knee or sentimental speeches, it would just be something like ‘I don’t want to make a home without you’ or whatever. This is hard, Chromia. I’ve never done the wedding dreaming.”

 

“But private and special, I think that I can manage.” Chromia squeezed her knee. “Go on. You look uncomfortable.”

 

“I need to toss my clothes in the washer.” Windblade rose. “Starscream and me fell into a fountain.”

 

Chromia’s voice rose into a shriek as Windblade ambled to the laundry room. “A _fountain?!_ ”

 

\--

_5 Weeks Down_

 

Windblade, Megatron was slowly learning, was a very quiet person. He had known it beforehand, had even remarked on her reserve, but it was wholly another thing to actively work alongside her. Tarn had a tendency to hum while grading, Vos muttered nonsense words in an effort to gain mastery over idioms, Kaon tapped his fingers on the desk, Helex was _always_ drinking something out of a mug, and Tesaurus...buzzed, in a way.

 

Windblade was utterly silent except for the slight scritching noises of her pen and the turn of the paper. It was a little difficult to become accustomed to, but now that he was accustomed to it, he found it soothing. Optimus thrived in silent environments as well, so they were a natural fit. “Do you have Thanksgiving plans?” he asked when she had finished the last essay.

 

She shrugged. “Chromia and Nautica are leaving tomorrow, and I was really just going to work on homework all day. Maybe turn on the Puppy Bowl or something. The Puppy event? Whatever.”

 

“You don’t have any real Thanksgiving traditions?”

 

“This is the first Thanksgiving holiday in a long time that I won’t have work Black Friday,” she replied absently. “So I’m a little adrift.”

 

“Why not come over?” It was worth asking again. There might be a different response that time. “Optimus has a family obligation on Thursday, but Starscream and I typically get a meal from Boston Market and watch whatever games are on. I know your house must be lonely, and you’d be welcome to spend the night in the guest room.” Or not, but he didn’t want to embarrass her.

 

She looked up at him, her brows wrinkled. “Are you sure? I mean, you’re technically my teacher.”

 

That was better than what he was expecting. “And the foster-father of the boy you’re dating,” he reminded her. “There’s no college guideline booklet to help traverse these murky waters.”

 

That made her grin. “I--if it’s okay with Optimus.”

 

It will be okay with Optimus, Megatron knew. Optimus viewed Windblade as something of an errant duckling in need of guidance and care. Though Optimus had chosen not to share what Windblade had given him in confidence, he had said enough for Megatron to draw his own conclusions, which were: Optimus felt that Windblade had been denied very necessary parental care, and if she would allow it, he would like to support her in that way.

 

Not for the first time, Megatron wondered if Starscream knew what he had really done when he had set up that job for her. Certainly not this; at some point down the road, Megatron had every intention of taunting Starscream to death over the fact that his girlfriend’s father-figure was with _his_ father-figure. He already had the incest one-liners planned.

 

Starscream would writhe and it would be _glorious_.

 

“I’ll clear it with him, but I can assure you that you will be welcome. Shall we figure for Thursday night? I make a mean applejack but no one will want to drive after that.”

 

“That sounds all right,” she allowed. “Optimus has a family obligation? I thought he was coming back tomorrow.”

 

Megatron considered how much to tell her. “He is, his flight is due at 2:30 tomorrow afternoon, but on Thanksgiving he drives up to Raleigh for the day.”

 

“You don’t go with him? It’s a long drive.”

 

“I’m not welcome. It’s--he needs to visit a grave.”

 

Windblade’s face softened. “Oh. Should I give him my condolences?”

 

“No, he won’t talk about it.” Windblade wasn’t _that_ far into the trust circle. “He thought he had perhaps finally outgrown the necessity last year, but...it’s something he needs to do.”

 

“I know about those,” she said quietly, and he thought that she might. The moment passed, and she sat upright. “So, your sophomores?”

 

“Need to be tortured if they’re ever going to amount to anything.”

 

“Optimus has a similar view about his freshmen.”

 

“They’re freshly mined,” Megatron explained. “They need to be worked before you can use them for anything important.”

 

She tucked a smile away. “I see. Well then, I have some suggestions.”

 

“You’re much nicer than my TAs,” he told her.

 

“Not like it’s hard.”

 

“I _do_ like them a little rough. They keep me from being bogged down with, well, things that could have solved themselves.”

 

“...right. Well, anyway--.” They talked for a bit, and Megatron finally cut her off.

 

“Have you considered teaching?”

 

“No.”

 

“And you don’t cherish any ambitions in that direction.”

 

“No, I’m--I’m an excellent second-in-command. I don’t need to supply the imagination, I just need to get it done.” She tilted her head. “We’re just as important, if unrecognized.”

 

“Hm. I’m not sure if I agree with that, but you’ve given me food for thought.”

 

“I’m always glad to do that, sir.” She pulled her folders together and stacked them. “Is that it for the day?”

 

“I believe so. I’ll see you Thursday?”

 

She gave him another smile, this one far shyer than the last. “I wouldn’t miss it. Thank you.”

 

“It’s nothing. If anything, watching you and Starscream bicker over the mashed potatoes will be the highlight of the day.”

 

There was the flush he had been anticipating. “I--uh--will endeavor to be sufficiently entertaining.”

 

“He’s been good for you,” he told her. “I don’t think you would have responded like that six months ago. Good for you.”

 

She blinked. “I--what?”

 

“You’re more outspoken. That’s good.”

 

“I’m not certain Starscream is entirely the cause of my, er, ‘character development.’”

 

“Maybe not,” Megatron agreed, privately thinking Optimus probably also had something to do with it. It was amazing what a person could become when they felt safe. “But he had something to do with it, and for that, I think he’s been good for you.”

 

“Would you have said that six months ago?”

 

“Six months ago, I would have said that you two were kidding yourselves that you weren’t doomed from the start,” Megatron said with a hint of impatience. “But now...now I think he’s learned to value his relationship with you, and that means he’ll invest effort into it. You’re not someone I would have chosen for him, but you’ve been good for him too. He actually thanks people now.”

 

“I keep hearing that,” she muttered, before she set her shoulders. “Have a good day, sir.”

 

“You too, Windblade.”

 

\--

 

Starscream pushed open the guest room door quietly. The day had been uneventful, and for the moment, Megatron was waiting up for Optimus to get back and he didn’t want to watch that exercise in anxiety.

 

He and Windblade hadn’t spoken very much, but she had spent the day doing homework and occasionally stealing green beans from his plate. He had retaliated by snitching bites of her mashed potatoes.

 

She was reading something on her tablet in bed, and she looked up when he eased into the room. “Hi.”

 

“Hi.” He sat on the edge of the bed, pouting a little. “Why aren’t you sleeping with me?”

 

She raised her eyebrows. “You didn’t exactly tell me you wanted me there. Besides, I don’t want to run into Optimus when I go to the bathroom in the middle of night.”

 

Starscream elected not to mention that Megatron and Optimus had their own bathroom. “Move over,” he told her, and she moved so that he could lie down on top of the covers and rest his head against her stomach. “What are you reading?”

 

“A novel about early Renaissance Italy politics, with a healthy dash of war tactics and poetry appreciation.” She had lifted her arm as he snuggled against her, and she wound it around his shoulders.

 

“It’s rare for you to read a novel,” he commented into her tummy, and she wriggled.

 

“Talking into my stomach is ticklish, stoppit.”

 

He blew a raspberry into her stomach, and she yelped. “ _Rude_.”

 

“Still rare for you to read a novel.”

 

“It comes highly recommended, and I’m enjoying it,” she told him. “And I finally have some time, _and_ I’ve been working all day, so…”

 

“Read to me,” he commanded.

 

She raised her brows. “You can read.”

 

“I know, but,” he shuffled against her and tried to blink up at her innocently. It didn’t work, largely because he wasn’t innocent. “My eyes are burning a little.”

 

“Fine, but if you want me to talk you to sleep, there’s something we should talk about first.” She put down her tablet and started to fiddle with the comforter. “Why does everyone we know think that we weren’t going to last?”

 

“Who said that?” he yawned.

 

“Well, Percy said something about--and then Megatron said something...So why is that everyone thought that?”

 

“For what it’s worth,” he resettled his cheek on her stomach, “I don’t think they think that anymore. We stopped fighting and grew up and talked to each other.”

 

She paused. “You think we grew up?”

 

“You don’t?”

 

“If it makes you feel any better, I think you spited everyone who thought they knew what you liked by dating me.” She kissed the top of his head. “I’ve been told that I wasn’t the person they would have chosen for you.”

 

“No, it would have been an insipid girl who looked good on my arm and never had a word to help or hurt me.” He shook his head and looked up at her, and she looked so soft--her hair was down in two messy braids, and she wore no makeup, and he swallowed. _Oh_. Well--that was--well. “So I’m glad it was you.” He poked her tablet. “Read!”

 

“Fine, we’ll start with the excerpt from the _Inferno_. “‘It is another path you must follow,’ he answered, when he saw me weeping. ‘If you would flee this wild and savage place: For that beast that moves to cry out…”

 

He listened to her read aloud an assassin, hired to kill a child only to be killed in turn. Then it became the story of a son who was afraid of perpetually living in his father’s shadow, and he understood why the story appealed to her so much. She felt like she would never be free of her mother.

 

“You can fall asleep,” she murmured to him, “but it might be more comfortable to get under the covers.”

 

He made a grumpy noise, and then rolled away to push down the covers and join her. Her pajamas were soft, and she tucked her hand against the back of his neck and continued to read. She was a good reader, not the kind to change her voice for the characters, but her voice was just raspy enough to give her voice texture and depth. It was enough to lull him into a doze, and he drifted in and out, paying _just_ enough attention to watch the story in his mind’s eye. The author was fantastic at description, so it made it easier.

 

Optimus trudged up the front walk in exhaustion. The drive was always hellish, no matter the direction, but Megatron was waiting up for him with a cup of tea, heavily spiked with whiskey. “You always have the best ideas,” his voice was so gone that he could only manage whispers. “Not too bad today?”

 

“There’s something you should see.” Megatron led him across the living room to the guest room and leaned on the door just a little. The door was already open, and in the bed, Starscream and Windblade were curled over each other, fast asleep.

 

Optimus blinked at it. “Should we start preparing wedding speeches?”

 

“They barely even touched,” Megatron hissed as they walked up the stairs. Optimus roused himself from his usual cloud of angry grief to consider being amused at Megatron’s indignation. “She sat at the dining room table with her homework and laptop all day. Starscream occasionally bothered her and they ate off each other’s plates, it was ridiculous and quite frankly I don’t know what _happened_ to him but--.”

 

“He’s in love,” Optimus interrupted. Megatron was pushing at his arms, and he raised them. Megatron pulled his shirt off and then got to work on his pants. “He’s in love, and she is too. Let them be in love. I haven’t seen her this--at peace. I wouldn’t say _happy_ , exactly, and she’s never not stressed, but she’s slowly letting down her walls. Starscream isn’t saying please, but he’s genuinely thanking people. I’ve even heard rumors that he’s apologizing for his mistakes and meaning them. So let them alone.”

 

Megatron grumbled as he went to get Optimus’ pajamas. “I’m not ready for him to grow up and be an actual person,” he complained. “He’s been this--child for so long, and now he’s growing up and graduating and getting his name out there and _applying to law school_ and I’m not ready for him to have that yet.”

 

“If I didn’t know you better,” Optimus dredged up what he could of his usual dry humor, “I’d say you’re coming to terms with that his life isn’t going to star you anymore. You’ll still be a supporting role, but not like you were before.”

 

“But you do know me better, so…”

 

“I would say that you’re disliking the fact that it’s harder to control him.”

 

Megatron made a face and pushed him toward the bed. Optimus went, his tiredness beginning to keep him from stringing whole sentences together. “Yeah, well, whatever.” Megatron tucked him in. “It’s more that I’m not ready to have a daughter,” Megatron hissed confidentially.

 

Optimus managed half a smile. “I am.”

 

Megatron climbed into bed next to him and killed the lights. In the darkness, he asked, “How bad?”

 

Optimus closed his eyes. “Same. The emotions never change, which is probably a good thing. I don’t want to hunt her down and murder her anymore, which is a plus, but I’m still hoping she’s suffocating in a tar pit somewhere, so that’s constant.”

 

“That’s an oddly specific wish,” Megatron commented.

 

Optimus laughed once. “It changes. Tomorrow it’ll be swallowed by an earthquake. Either way, something painful and lasting for how she dies.”

 

Megatron settled around him, and Optimus forced himself to relax. “I think that’s normal, personally.”

 

“I keep thinking that I’ll know I’m a good person when I don’t want her to die anymore,” Optimus whispered.

 

“Oh, _no_. You’re a good person. Occasional wishes for homicide are _normal_.” Megatron cleared his throat. “I occasionally wish I could murder my TAs, and I handpicked them. It’s normal.”

 

“That doesn’t make me feel better. I occasionally wish I could murder them, too.”

 

Megatron tightened his hold on Optimus. “I love you,” he said. “I’m not going to leave you.”

 

Optimus’ hand found his. “Thank you,” his voice broke, but it had been barely hanging together by a thread before that. “I needed that.”

 

Megatron kissed the nape of his neck. “Get some rest.”

 

Optimus needed no such urging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Windblade's reading from is _The Master of Verona_ , which I highly recommend even if you're not into politics or Dante. Some of the best battle scenes I've ever read.
> 
> Some of my favorite Megatron+Windblade bonding, too. 
> 
> Again, so sorry I forgot to post this one.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the length of time posting this took. I wanted to wait until I'd caught up with the rest of it, which I have mostly done, and then life happened in the worst way. This was not a good week.
> 
> This chapter and the next two are basically Chromia Attempts To Find the Right Time and Fails Badly.
> 
> This chapter covers the first two weeks of December. Warnings for alcohol consumption and discussion of stress and anxiety.

**CHAPTER SEVEN: DISAPPEARING DAYLIGHT**

 

_4 Weeks Down_

 

The week after Thanksgiving was spent in quiet, frantic contemplation of navels, paper, and textbooks. Windblade obeyed Starscream’s request about seeing her more--all of their friends got used to seeing the two of them sitting across the table from each other with their laptops lighting their faces as they studied their notes furiously.

 

Nautica stole some of Windblade’s tea from the pot and escaped to the porch. Cold temperatures had set in not too long after Thanksgiving day, and she sat down on the porch with a blanket wrapped around her. She had been writing equations all over the walls again; her hands hurt and she needed the break.

 

Chromia opened the screen door and closed the regular door behind her. “Hey. How are you holding up?”

 

“I thought you were writing reports,” Nautica said softly, leaning against Chromia after the other woman sat down.

 

“I was, but I needed a break, and I guess you do too. You okay?”

 

“Fine,” Nautica said automatically.

 

“You know what fine stands for, right? Freaked out, insecure--.”

 

“Neurotic and emotional. Stop watching car chase movies. I--no, I’m not okay. I know you hate doing office work, but it means that you’re not coming home with _bullet holes_ and I’m just--I’m so scared, Chromia.”

 

“Shh,” Chromia soothed as she wrapped around Nautica’s blanket bundle. “I’m here, I’m all right.”

 

“But you almost _weren’t_ ,” the sobs were rising in her throat and she buried her face in Chromia’s shoulder. “You could have died and I can’t handle that, I can’t handle a world where you’re not alive, please don’t ask me to deal with that _please_.”

 

Chromia’s other arm came around her and they rocked together. “Has this been bothering you since the summer? Oh sweetheart.”

 

That made her cry harder. “You were so badly injured, and then you were recovering, and then Windblade invited her storm of misery, and I’ve been so drained because of all of this--this secondhand pain and I just didn’t know how to talk about it, I finally talked about it to _Starscream_ of all people because I didn’t feel like I was putting him out of his way, and--.”

 

“Shhh,” Chromia interrupted. “I mean, cry, I think you need to, but I’m calling a roommate intervention, because you’ve held too much misery for too long and you need to be reminded why you’re living with _us_.”

 

“I--I--.” Nautica tightened her grip on her mug as Chromia pulled her upright so that the tea wouldn’t splash everywhere. “W-why?”

 

“Because I think Windblade will be horrified that her own pain has caused you to internalize yours. Come on.”

 

Nautica followed after Chromia on stumbling feet, and they entered the kitchen. Nautica put down her mug as Chromia planted her hands on her hips. “Screamer, out. There’s an incoming roommate conversation coming, and you need to be gone.”

 

Starscream looked to Windblade, and she nodded at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Star.” She leaned across the table to kiss him, and Starscream, thank god, didn’t try to make into anything awkward.

 

“You’d better. Hey, Nautica.”

 

“Yeah?” She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the blanket.

 

“You finally man up and talk about your feelings?”

 

She managed a wet laugh. “I’ve never heard the concept of ‘manning up’ and ‘talking about feelings’ in the same positive sentence. But yeah, I’ve--manned up.”

 

On his way out, he squeezed her arm, and Nautica decided that Starscream was an okay addition to the collective. Windblade closed her laptop. “What’s going on?”

 

Chromia pushed Nautica into a seat and planted herself down. “Apparently Nautica’s been heartbroken over my getting shot this summer and has been holding it in because she felt that talking about it would be asking us to go out of our way.”

 

Windblade’s face crumpled. “Oh, Nautica. I never meant for you to feel that way, I’m sorry.”

 

“You were going through a lot,” Nautica mumbled.

 

The chair scraped across the floor as Windblade got up to hug Nautica. Nautica clung to her, and Windblade murmured, “I always, _always_ have room for you. That’s not a question. I love you so much.”

 

Nautica started crying again. “I d-didn’t me-ean to, b-but I didn’t want-t to hurt you, and then i-it turns into some-thing else and I just…” She looked at Chromia through tears. “And t-then I didn’t w-want to p-put any pres-sure on you and I…”

 

Windblade’s arms tightened around her, and Chromia came over to put a hand on Nautica’s shoulder. “In hindsight, we probably have done this in the bedroom. Cuddle piles are easier there.”

 

Windblade looked sharply at her, but Chromia shrugged it off. “It’s true.”

 

“I’m sorry that you felt my pain,” Windblade told Nautica. “I am so, so sorry that I didn’t see you were in pain that was just as deep as mine. I’m sorry I was selfish.”

 

“Oh, Windy, no--.”

 

“I was selfish,” Windblade said, and Chromia nodded. “Because I know you, and I should have picked up the signs--your weird sleeping habits, your heightened empathy, and your stress. That’s all your signs of emotional distress. I’m sorry.”

 

Nautica gently pushed her away. “You keep martyring yourself, Windy. You didn’t see it because I didn’t want you to see it. I thought that--,” she paused to swallow hard and get her voice back under control, “I thought that you had enough.”

 

“Like I said--I always have enough for you.”

 

Chromia came closer. “I should have put it together too,” she admitted, “but I thought it was just senior stress and would clear up once the semester was over. I should have known.”

 

Nautica looked at those two women that were her family, and she tried on a watery smile. “So now that blame has been shared between the three of us in short order, Windy, don’t you think there’s something you need to tell us?” She daubed at the corners of her eyes, and Windblade’s cheeks pinked.

 

“I’m in love with Starscream,” she said after a beat. “I wasn’t ready to talk about it, but I’m ready now. I’m not used to this feeling. It’s like I’m nauseous, but I’m happy about it.”

 

“That’s the first flush,” Nautica said wisely. Her eyes felt raw, but her heart was lighter than it had been in months. “Second flush is when you can’t stop smiling at him. It’s a little weird. When Chromia looked like that, I wondered if she had gas.”

 

“Well, Queen Grump that she is,” Windblade’s tease was light, but there. Chromia scowled good-naturedly at the both of them.

 

“Third flush is the best,” Nautica continued, reaching out to grab Chromia’s hand. “That part’s the certainty--when you know you love them, and that’s not going to change. Windblade, I’m happy for you.”

 

Windblade softened. “Are you?”

 

Nautica had a free hand, and she reached to Windblade. Windblade stepped into her grasp, and Nautica drew her in for an awkward hug. “It’s going to take me a while to feel better,” she confessed, “but I didn’t say anything because I love you. So yes, I’m happy for you.”

 

Chromia cleared her throat. “I’m in the process of doing the transfer to desk work and training new recruits.” She knelt down next to Nautica, who was stiff in surprise. “I never wanted to worry you like that again. Besides, it’ll be easier to transfer to DC as a supervisor than an active agent in the field.”

 

“…Oh.”

 

“Is that a problem?”

 

“N-no, not really, I just know that you love being in the field and all of that.”

 

Chromia shrugged. “I don’t enjoy physical therapy.”

 

“Fair enough.” Nautica looked at the two of them. “So, what now?”

 

“I think there’s some ice cream,” Windblade said thoughtfully. “You want?”

 

Nautica lit up. “Oooh, _please_.”

 

“Done.” She ruffled Nautica’s hair on her way to the freezer. “Chromia?”

 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll get the bowls.”

 

After a bowl of strawberry ice cream, Nautica felt _much_ better, and she beamed at the two of them. “I still feel a little squicky, and I know you two care about me, but I didn’t—.”

 

“We know you didn’t,” Chromia interrupted. “But it doesn’t do good things for you to hold onto things like that. That’s why you share. It makes the burden a little less.”

 

Nautica sighed. “I learned my lesson. I guess.”

 

“It’s still going to hurt,” Windblade said quietly. “That’s never going to change. But if it gets to be too much, at least we all know, and we can pick each other up when we need it. You two have done it for me. It’s only fair that you let us do it for you.”

 

Nautica’s lip wibbled. “You two are just the best, did you know that?”

 

Chromia grinned. “I have considered it.”

 

—

 

Chromia hummed as she picked up the mail. “Nautica! Gift’s in.”

 

The end-of-semester party was going to be their friend group, and Nautica had decided that gag gifts were the rule. Windblade’s sense of humor didn’t easily lend itself to gag gifts, so Nautica had selected their gift and had Windblade okay it. “Oooh! That’s Starscream, Thundercracker, and Skywarp. Wheeljack’s getting fireworks, Brainstorm’s got a Nerf Gun that I hacked to make scarier, we’re getting something real for Windy—is there anything else?”

 

Chromia paused and felt the weight of the jewelry box in her pocket. “Well, there is one thing I wanted to ask actually—.”

 

“Percy! Nearly forgot Percy. What’s a suitable gag gift for Percy?”

 

“A wine decanter shaped like an Erlenmeyer flask,” Chromia said flatly. “He drinks brandy, it’ll work.”

 

“I _like_ that idea, lemme check Amazon.”

 

“Nautica—.”

 

“Hey, I had a thought, but I don’t want to ask yet for, you know, reasons. Is it okay if we ask Percy to come with us for Christmas to your parents? They’re in Williamsburg, so there’s stuff to do, but I don’t think he should be alone over the holidays, and Windblade’s going home, so there will be no one here, is it okay?”

 

Chromia took a moment to parse that sentence, and her heart shrunk a little. She needed to ask Nautica a very important question, but it needed to be _private_. “If he wants to,” she said unenthusiastically. Nautica did have a point.

 

Percy was _very_ enthusiastic, as in, “I have very much wanted to visit more of the United States, and I am delighted that you would invite me, would it be all right with your parents?”

 

Chromia reflected on her parents. “Oh, I’m sure. My parents are very…welcoming.”

 

“Well, if it is all right with them, I would love to take you up on your invitation.” He was so happy, and Chromia couldn’t take it from him. Not when he had been so unhappy. She would just need to find a different time to propose.

 

—

 

 _Last class of the day. Last class of the day. Then you can go home and collapse._ Windblade repeated that mantra like a prayer as she waited impatiently to order a tea at the local coffeeshop, and the line was several people deep. The last week of classes brought out the students the way light drew mosquitoes, and she tucked her elbows in a little more as someone pushed past her. “Thanks for apologizing,” she said under her breath as she moved forward in the line.

 

Finally, _finally_ , she got up to the counter and ordered her chai, and then she stepped past people as she went to wait. Someone near the counter looked familiar from the back, and she eyed them with speculation. How many grossly tall people belonged to her circle of acquaintance? Well, there was Starscream and Perceptor—neither of whom was this person—and then there was…

 

She snapped her fingers. _Skyfire_. She hadn’t seen him in a long time, and she wondered briefly whether to make contact. Her resentment on Percy’s behalf had died down, but a small lodestone of it remained. She doubted it would ever leave; she despised emotional manipulation.

 

Still, it _had_ been a while, and it was only polite to greet him. She was saved from making the choice when he collected his coffee and turned, and she would never admit to savoring the expression of trepidation on his face when he saw her. “W-Windblade.”

 

“Hello, Skyfire,” she said graciously, Southern manners on full blast. She didn’t know his particular backstory, where he came from or what his family was like, but she knew he didn’t grow up in the Deep South the way she had. He wouldn’t see that Southern manners could be used to disguise all manner of negative emotions. “How are you?”

 

“Well enough.” He looked suspicious, and she turned up the brightness of her smile by two degrees. He relaxed, probably unconsciously, and he gestured to the counter. “Are you waiting for…?”

 

“Just my tea,” she said. “It’s a little chilly today.”

 

“Yeah, I’d noticed.” He zipped his jacket back up, and her amusement grew as his discomfort with inane small talk became apparent. “So, uh, how many exams are you preparing for?”

 

“Three,” she made sure her attitude was prim and reserved, the way he expected her to act. “You?”

 

“Four. But it shouldn’t be too bad.”

 

“I don’t have to memorize grammars this semester,” she agreed, “so this is far preferable.”

 

It wasn’t funny, not really, but he flashed a small smile anyway as if that’s what he expected her to want in response. “I—um—Starscream and me are working together again.”

 

“He told me.” She was rewarded by his flinch, as if he hadn’t expected Starscream to keep her up to date. Rude. “Are you two presenting at the astrophysics Ted Talk the university is hosting next February?”

 

“He hasn’t told you?”

 

“Other things have come up,” she said, and she pronounced it specifically so he would take her meaning to be something else entirely. He flushed—either in anger or resentment, she couldn’t tell—and his mouth flattened.

 

“We’ve been asked. He’s still considering it.”

 

“Sounds like him,” she agreed. Her name was called, and she went forward to receive her chai. “Oh, Skyfire?”

 

He halted. He had been making his way toward the exit, and he turned to her. She went up to his side and then past, forcing him to walk in time with her. “I recognize that we don’t particularly get along, but Starscream _is_ very important to me, so for his sake, I am willing to be polite when we’re in the same room. Is that an agreeable truce?”

 

His jaw set. “You’re presuming we’re going to be in the same room with him.”

 

She sighed. “I think the only thing that’s a match for my resentment for you is your resentment for me. I at least know where mine comes from. Where does yours? Have you done that soul-searching?”

 

“You think it runs so deep into my _soul_?”

 

“Figure of speech, Skyfire.” She hadn’t lost her temper in months. She suspected that track record was about to be broken. “From what I’ve been told, you like to look into other peoples’ souls. You never do it for yourself?”

 

“I won’t stand here and be—.”

 

“What’s the problem with me, exactly? You don’t like being called out on your crap, which, okay, no one really does, but I would have thought the past few months would have a humbling experience for you.”

 

He looked away from her; she was satisfied in striking a nerve. “It’s not—I’m not obligated to answer to you.”

 

“No, you’re not. But let the record show that I attempted a truce.” She shook her head. “I’m late. As a piece of general advice from me to you? Grow up. Everyone else is.”

 

He stared at her, and she left. She needed to get to class, and then she could go home and collapse.

 

—

 

Chromia knocked on their shared bedroom door. “Hey, I just wanted to ask you something.”

 

“I know, I told Windblade I’d give her the grocery list, and I’m just putting the finishing touches on it, is there something you want specifically?” Nautica looked up from her piles of papers.

 

“No, that’s not—no, I need to ask something else.”

 

“Okay, but—will it take very long? I need to get back to studying. I’m sorry, I just—really need to study.”

 

Chromia bit back an irritated noise. “No, it’s not that important.”

 

“What’s wrong?” Nautica looked anxious. “You’re mad.”

 

“No, I’m not mad, I just wanted to ask—what you wanted for Christmas.”

 

“Oh! Um. I don’t know. There’s that mapping software, the one that manages impossibility logarithms? That one. I think?”

 

“I’ll let you think about it,” Chromia told her. “Since I know you have exams.”

 

“Thanks—hey, all the sex after exams, right?”

 

Chromia grinned. That was her girl. “You’ll have a lot of post-stress euphoria to work off, so obviously.”

 

“We’ll send Windblade to go live with Starscream for a while. Let _them_ have sex.”

 

“Like they haven’t—.” Nautica was shaking her head, and Chromia goggled. “They haven’t been having sex?!”

 

“Everytime he’s spent the night, he’s slept on the couch. That’s evidence enough.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“If I had to guess—and I’m not sure how right I am—I’d say that Windblade wanted to adjust their intimacy levels instead of jumping in all at once. That sounds like her.”

 

“She got scared by how intimate they got so quick.” Chromia remembered how skittish Windblade got. “She should get over that.”

 

“I’d say she is.” Nautica grinned. “Go away, I gotta study.”

 

“I’ll come get you when it’s time for your nourishment. Can’t have you wasting away.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Nautica gestured to at the door. “I heed and obey, but seriously go away.”

 

“I will.” Chromia resolved to find another time. Maybe she should wait until exams; if she proposed before exams, it would take away from Nautica’s concentration, and that wouldn’t be good.

 

She made a face at herself. Of course before exams wasn’t a good idea. What had she been _thinking?_

 

—

 

_3 Weeks Down_

 

Exams arrived with the whimpers of college students everywhere. Nautica grew more wild-eyed and Windblade’s lips nearbout disappeared from the way she bit them as she stared at her notes. Chromia was wondering how those two women were her roommates.

 

Chromia avoided talking to them. Nautica was typically sleeping in the living room, and Windblade would fall asleep covered in notes, and Chromia made sure both were covered with adequate blankets and that tea was always ready.

 

“She’s this ridiculous woman, and sometimes I wonder why I’m in love with her, Mama,” Chromia complained to her mother. “She writes equations all over the walls and just manages to fall asleep on the couch instead of falling down where she was standing, and she mutters formulas in her sleep, and I just—and I don’t how to propose!”

 

Her mother made a humming noise. She typically knitted while talking to anyone on the phone over Bluetooth, something that bothered Chromia when she was a child but not anymore. “Your father had issues proposing too. He just couldn’t spit it out. Finally—once I saw where he was going—I just asked him if he wanted to get married. He was so happy that I said it, he said yes right away. And yes, your father would say I am impossible sometimes, since I’m constantly trailing various craft byproducts and sometimes the yarn balls can be as big as a cat. I would say that he snores, and he grinds his teeth absently, and he misses sometimes. You know, in the toilet.”

 

“Mama! I don’t need to know that!”

 

“Marriage is about give and take,” her mother was placid, and Chromia could hear the needles clicking. “It’s not easy, and it won’t be a smooth road, but it’s a good marriage when at the end of the day, you two can hold each other up on the road. Are you quite sure you want to do this? Just because you’ve been together a while doesn’t mean you’re ready for marriage.”

 

“I think we’re ready, Mama,” Chromia said quietly. “I want to be on that road with her.”

 

Her mother sighed static. “When you come up, ask your father privately how many attempts he made to propose.”

 

“Uh—Mama, about that. Is it okay if we bring a friend? He had a bad break up this semester and he’s an international student, so we don’t want him alone at Christmas.”

 

“Of course he can come! What does he like?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know Mama, he likes lots of things. Science. Space.”

 

“Well, that’s enough.” Mama hummed. “I want to see that ring.”

 

“Hopefully it’ll be on Nautica’s finger, but, you know.”

 

Her mother snorted. “That’s sweet.”

 

“ _Thanks_.”

 

“Well, I’m wishing you all the best. We miss you so much,” her mother’s voice was fond, and Chromia was overcome by an abrupt wave of longing for her mother.

 

“See you soon, Mama.”

 

“You too, my darling.”

 

Chromia eyed Nautica on the couch. She was frowning, and she didn’t sleep well all curled up. She liked to spread out; Chromia usually found herself all tangled up in Nautica’s hold or sleeping on the very edge of the bed. She placed a hand on Nautica’s shoulder and murmured, “Sweetheart, get up.”

 

Nautica mumbled a little in her sleep and her eyes cracked open. “Wha?”

 

“Let’s get you to bed,” Chromia murmured, and Nautica’s eyes slipped closed.

 

“Okay,” Nautica sighed, holding her arms out. Chromia pulled her upright, and Nautica stumbled to her feet. Chromia helped her to bed, and Nautica slid under the covers without any complaining. Chromia tucked the blankets around her—the room was chilly—and Nautica smiled sleepily at her. “Love you, Chr’mia.”

 

Chromia knelt to kiss her forehead. “I love you too.”

 

—

 

“Is it weird that we’re here without Optimus or Megatron here?” Windblade asked anxiously as she hung back on the porch.

 

“I just need to put some stuff here, relax.” Starscream reached back to grab her wrist and pull her over the threshold. “It’s easier to bring the necessary but not immediate stuff before the dorms close.”

 

“Am I really needed for this particular errand?”

 

“No, not really, but I’ve been wanting to ask you something but we keep getting interrupted.”

 

She paused in putting her bag down on the entryway table. “Ask me something?”

 

“Don’t sound so delicate, god. I’m heading up to my house in Asheville after Christmas, and I wanted to know if you’d come with me.” Starscream turned to go up the stairs, and she followed after.

 

“Go with you to Asheville?”

 

“Yeah. I’m planning on leaving around December 27th and coming back January 7th or 8th. The spring semester starts later than normal this year, so I wanted to take full advantage.”

 

Windblade did some quick math in her head. “12 days. You want to be gone with me for 12 days?”

 

Starscream was busy putting his boxes down, but she knew he was raising his eyebrows. “Is that so awful?”

 

“We’ve never been alone for that long, that’s all.” Windblade leaned against the doorframe. “Not awful, just…I’m hesitating a little.”

 

“We don’t have to be there for the entirety of the 12 days. But it’s a ski vacation, I haven’t been skiing in like _way_ too long and I don’t think you’ve skiied at all, so it’ll be new and exciting.”

 

“We will be _alone_ for _12 days_ ,” Windblade emphasized.

 

Starscream glanced over at her with a wicked smirk. “You noticed.”

 

She considered that. They were alone, and she didn’t feel the need to feel embarrassed because they were—obliquely—discussing sex. They already knew what they looked like naked; there were no surprises left. “I don’t want it to be a nonstop sex vacation. Sexcation? Is that a word?”

 

“I could type it into my phone and see if Autocorrect has a fit,” he offered.

 

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary. We’ll get sore after awhile, and if you’re promising skiing…wait, do I need to buy snow gear?”

 

“Nah, there’s some already there. You and my mom were about the same size, and she even liked the colors you do.”

 

Windblade scowled at him as she smoothed down her red coat. “It won’t be weird for you, me wearing your mom’s clothes? Not too Oedipal or anything like that?”

 

Starscream blew out a sharp breath. “ _No_. Besides, the last time that my mom went to the Asheville house was before everything got fucked to shit, so when I was like, 6? I went to the Asheville house with a bunch of my friends from boarding school when I was sixteen, and we all got really drunk and then got up all hungover and skiied. Fun times.”

 

“It sounds like it.” She considered it. “Why now?”

 

“Megatron’s after me to sell the Asheville house, and I want to visit it one last time just to be sure. He thinks that me having two houses is too much excess for the town I’m hoping to get elected in.”

 

She hummed thoughtfully. “And you don’t want to go alone?”

 

“I want to be alone _with you_.”

 

“Let’s leave early the 28th,” she said. “I’m coming back late 26th and I’ll be exhausted. We can do the 28th.”

 

“Wait, seriously?”

 

“Yes. You make a compelling argument. Besides, I’ve always wanted to go into the mountains for the winter. I’ve heard it’s very pretty.” She shrugged. “Besides, I think Chromia would like having the house to herself and Nautica for a bit. She’s been trying to propose.”

 

“I see that. Oh, hey, about Nautica’s gag gift party.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I do actually have a gag gift for you—.”

 

“Same.”

 

“But I have a real one, too, and I’d rather give it to you in private,” he found his coat and he pulled it on. “Is it okay if I save it for Asheville?”

 

“If it’s okay that I save yours for then too,” she stood upright and tugged her coat straight. “I found it a little while ago, and I didn’t want to give it to you in front of all of our friends. It’s a little…sentimental.”

 

“Perish the thought. All right, so we’ll save our gift exchange for then.” The doorway was too narrow for them to leave side-by-side, so she stepped aside so that he could step out. “What did you get me?”

 

“That ruins the surprise,” she said loftily.

 

“Aw, you don’t want to give me even a hint?”

 

“Fine, just one. When I saw it, I _knew_ it was for you.” She stilled for a moment of horror. “You didn’t get me lingerie, did you?”

 

“No,” he blustered, and she cut her eyes at him. “No! I didn’t! Besides, I’d give you that in front of our friends. You’d be _so_ embarrassed.”

 

“Oh _thanks_. Is that what I have to look ‘forward’ to when my birthday comes around?”

 

“I’m sure you can convince me to keep it private,” he said casually as he unlocked the door and pulled it open. “You’re capable.”

 

She sighed. “Do I really have to exchange sexual favors for you not to embarrass me in front of our friends?”

 

“ _I_ was thinking about something like cookies or whatever. _You_ took it to the sex place.” He wagged a finger at her as they got in the car. “For shame.”

 

“Oh, like you weren’t _heavily_ implying it. It’s always sex first with you, and you know that.”

 

“I do know that,” his faux mournful tone would have made her laugh hysterically if they weren’t discussing the possibility of their friend group discovering just how Starscream liked her in bed, “but you chose to follow up on the insinuation.”

 

“Starscream,” she said sharply, “I have a few boundaries. That’s one of them. Our friends do not need to know about our sex life.” She cringed at the thought. Whatever happened in the bedroom stayed behind closed doors.

 

“Fine, fine. So you don’t want in on the roommate orgies.”

 

She was vaguely nauseated. “Too many moving parts. Then I feel guilty because I don’t spread my attention out to everybody.”

 

He snorted. “Not the fact that more than one person at a time is seeing you naked?”

 

“If it were a few people I was actively attracted to,” she considered, “then no, but there’s too many moving parts otherwise.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“You ever done the group sex thing?”

 

“A few times, it wasn’t too bad. Once, it was all guys, that was a little odd. Half of them would never have said they were gay or whatever, but we were the only option and we were all horny as hell, so…they had no idea what to do, it was kind of funny. I like it when it’s a more even mixture—there’s always something to do that way.”

 

“Or someone?” she asked archly.

 

He raised his eyebrows at her boldness. “Duh.”

 

“Is it something you, uh, miss?”

 

“It’s one of those things where when it happens, it’s good, but if it doesn’t happen, it’s okay. Why? Are you curious? Because if you are, I’m sure I can arrange something.”

 

She flushed. “No, thank you. I appreciate the offer, but there’s really not a need.”

 

“That doesn’t answer my original question,” he pointed out. “Dinner?”

 

“Yes please. Um—occasionally I have the passing impulse to know more in that general direction, but the impulse is usually borne of, um—.”

 

“Lack of getting laid?”

 

“Hush. But, er, yes. Occasionally I do have the impulse, but it’s never really serious. Passive curiosity, not active.”

 

“That’s an interesting distinction. Fine, I’ll leave it alone.” He signaled a right turn that took them onto the main thoroughfare. “What do you want for dinner?”

 

“I’m thinking…Boston Market?”

 

“That’s doable. Though, if you’re getting the bowl, make sure you ask to keep your sides separate. Otherwise you end up with apples, mashed potatoes, and chicken all in the same thing.”

 

She shuddered. “That’s _awful_.”

 

“Yeah.” He pulled in to Boston Market. “So what’s your gag gift to Nautica and Chromia?”

 

“I had banked on Chromia managing to propose to Nautica, because I found really sweet happy engagement things that were also entirely cheesy, but Chromia hasn’t found the right time yet so I need something else. I think I found something, though. What are you getting Skywarp and Thundercracker?”

 

“Glow in the dark condoms for Skywarp, and a children’s guide to engineering for Thundercracker,” Starscream said promptly. “Skywarp really likes, uh, _lightsaber_ battles.”

 

Windblade blinked. “I—that’s more than I ever wanted to know about him.”

 

“Oh, really?” he mocked.

 

“Yes, really.” She frowned at him and then stepped forward to order. Starscream followed after, and when they got the cashier, Windblade paid. “It’s my turn,” she told him when he looked askance at her. “Hush up.”

 

He flapped a hand at her and went to get them drinks.

 

Windblade managed the two plates credibly, and while she hadn’t worked as a waitress for almost a year, muscle memory was strong. She found one of the more secluded tables and sat down, and Starscream brought over their drinks, iced tea for her and some kind of bubbling concoction for him.

 

He sat down and stretched out his legs until his feet brushed against her ankles. She raised her eyebrows at him and straightened. “So tomorrow is the second to last exam for you?”

 

“Yeah. Tomorrow and Thursday, and then I’m done. You?”

 

“I have tomorrow off, and then just Thursday. You have two exams on Thursday, right?”

 

“Yeah, one’s at 9:30 and the other one’s at 1:30.”

 

She tilted her head at him. “My exam’s at 12:30. Want to come over after your 1:30 exam?”

 

“And…?” He waggled his eyebrows.

 

“Sleeping,” she said firmly. “And food.”

 

“So a typical afternoon, then.” He thought about it. “Okay. I can’t promise anything at the moment, but I’ll see if I can get there. I’m so tired. Law school applications on top of everything else is just _awful_.”

 

She reached out to squeeze his wrist. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Meh. I’m just tired.”

 

She let him have the last word; she was too tired to parse his stress. That was on him. She started to eat her food before it got too cold, and her eyes flicked to him when he brushed her ankles again. “No footsie in a Boston Market. That is not classy.”

 

He grinned and moved his foot to touch her calf. She straightened and put her legs under her chair instead of stretching them out, and he ate his chicken while angling his foot to run up her shin. “You’re in negative classy here,” she warned him quietly.

 

He smirked and leaned back in his chair, which gave him greater range.

 

“Starscream,” she said. “Stop.”

 

He sighed and sat up. “You’re no fun.”

 

“I’m not an exhbitionist. That doesn’t mean I’m not _fun._ ”

 

“No, I suppose not.” He gave her a filthy grin. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”

 

“Thanks,” she said as they got up to throw out their leavings. “I’ll see you Friday?”

 

“Friday,” he agreed. “I can’t wait for you to open my present.”

 

“It’s not a dick in a box, is it?”

 

“No,” he informed her. “It’s _so much better_.”

 

“Oh no.” She managed the potholes in the parking lot expertly, and he watched her legs with her skirt swishing around her knees with delight. She had such lovely legs. “Now I am _very_ concerned.”

 

“You’re fine.” They got to his car, and she got in. “You will be so fine.”

 

“Oh goody.” She leaned back against her seat. He was too attractive. It was making it hard to think.

 

“Don’t get too drowned under your exams,” he told her as he pulled to a stop in front of her house.

 

“You too. Are you walking me up?”

 

“I could, but then I’d end up kissing that red lipstick off your mouth—do you know how I feel about your lipstick?—and then you would talk me into sex—.”

 

“ _I_ would talk you into sex?”

 

“But I have an exam tomorrow, and I’d want to stay up all night with my mouth on your—.”

 

“Don’t.”

 

“Well, you get the gist. I will kiss you goodnight, though.”

 

She leaned toward him. “More like _I’ll_ kiss _you_. Asshole.”

 

“That’s my girl.”

 

—

 

Nautica eyed the party speculatively. Windblade was chatting with Chromia and Percy, and Brainstorm was holding Skywarp and Thundercracker captive. Literally—Thundercracker kept attempting to make a break for freedom, but Brainstorm wouldn’t stop talking. Wheeljack had declined to attend, citing an exam that left his brain feeling way too soft to talk to people, and the party was going well.

 

“This was a good idea,” Starscream told her, offering her a red cup. She sniffed it—yes, vodka and juice. She took it. “When do you want to do gift exchange?”

 

“In a bit. People are still eating.” She nodded at the plates. “Windy worked so hard on the food, I would hate to deny her.”

 

Starscream nodded. “So how were your exams?”

 

“Bloody and awful. They came, they saw, they conquered. You?”

 

“Not too awful, I think.” He shrugged and sipped from his own cup. She suspected his was dry. “I managed to convince Windblade to run away with me in a few weeks, so you and Chromia will have the house to yourself.”

 

“She did mention something about that,” Nautica said thoughtfully. “Are there any expectations I should have about your return?”

 

“Like what?” Starscream’s mouth lifted in what she presumed was an entertained smirk.

 

“Oh, announcements of some kind involving bells and rings?”

 

“Oh, definitely not,” he snorted. “You’re Windblade’s best friend. Surely you get that she’s not the marrying kind.”

 

“Oh, she’s the marrying kind,” Nautica told him, “she just doesn’t agree. You, though? You are not the marrying kind.”

 

“No, definitely not.” He toasted her. “Why would you say she doesn’t agree? She’s told me she has no desire to get married.”

 

“Because Windblade, for all her faults and virtues, likes stability. But that’s not really why you’re asking.”

 

He shrugged. “She can be inconsistent and then intractable when you point it out.”

 

“Yeah, she does that. Well, if you ever want to know how to discuss that topic with her, I’d root for you.”

 

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Really.”

 

“Yeah. You make her happy. I think she was so busy working that she forgot how to be happy, but she’s happy now, especially with working with Optimus and all that.”

 

“I arranged that,” he told her quietly. “She told me how much she hated her old job, so I found her a new one.”

 

“I’m assuming she doesn’t know that.”

 

“No, I don’t think she does. She’s loved working with him, so I’m glad I did.”

 

Nautica tapped her chin. “I know she said she wanted to earn it.”

 

“If she had been a grad student, it wouldn’t have been a question.”

 

“No, I guess not.” Nautica shrugged. “I’ve decided I’m okay with it, but you should really tell her. Don’t let it come from Optimus.”

 

“Optimus won’t tell her,” Starscream shook his head. “Not with—he won’t say anything.”

 

Nautica eyed him. “Did you put him between a rock and a hard place?”

 

“Yes.” She could appreciate his honesty. It was like that porch conversation so long ago had caused him to always be honest with her. She wondered if she would need that. “Or rather, I made him a deal he couldn’t refuse.”

 

“Still, at some point, you should tell her. Otherwise it becomes something else.”

 

“Why did I tell you?” he complained, but he didn’t look too unhappy.

 

“Because you want me on your side because you—you are head over heels for her, and you have no idea what to do with it.” She eyed him again, taking in how his eyes kept tracking Windblade from across the room. His dark skin hid any blush that he might have had, but he was nigh shameless anyway. Windblade was folded against the arm of the couch, her legs tucked under her and her soft shirt clinging to all her curves, and she kept half-smiling as Percy told her and Chromia a story, and if you liked lipstick for the way it defined a woman’s mouth the way Starscream did (if Windblade’s hints meant anything), she would be _very_ distracting.

 

“I—I’m not head over heels.”

 

Everything made _perfect_ sense. “Oh my god, you so are. That’s so cute! No wonder you want to run away with her, you don’t want to have to share her for a while. You know, this means I’m going to call her like daily, just to fuck with you.”

 

“There’s not good cell reception on the mountain,” he told her. “It probably wouldn’t go through.”

 

“That’s not a denial,” she was overcome with glee. _Finally_.

 

“Guess not.” He leaned toward her. “But it _is_ a secret.”

 

“I’m tired of secrets,” she complained. “You want some food?”

 

“I’m good. I think I’m going to go bother Windblade.”

 

“Not too much. We _are_ doing gag gifts soon and I want her to be able to laugh.”

 

“You think I’d stop her?” he asked with mock outrage.

 

“I think you’d scare her off.” Nautica frowned at him severely. “Don’t embarass her and make her run away.”

 

“ _Fine_.”

  

Boys. Seriously.

 

Nautica hummed to herself as she fixed a plate of food. Chromia came up behind her and kissed her cheek. “How was Screamer? Dagger sharp?”

 

“No, he’s wildly in love. So his daggers were a bit…blunted. It was endearing, really.”

 

“I never thought he would be endearing.”

 

“He was _very_ endearing. He wants to take her away so that he can have her all to himself for a while.”

 

“We’ll need to call daily.”

 

“I told him that.” Nautica grinned at her. “Are we sharing a brain?”

 

“I’d rather share something else,” Chromia murmured in her ear. Her hand squeezed Nautica’s hip, and Nautica glanced up at her.

 

“We still have a party to host,” she said primly. “And gag gifts to do.”

 

“Well, let’s do the gag gifts so I can kick these people out of our house and get to what _really_ matters.”

 

“If you say so.” Nautica moved out from under her arm. “All right, all of you. Let’s get down to presents.”

 

“Yes,” Skywarp said enthusiastically. “I have _such_ good ones.”

 

“Oh no,” Windblade quipped, and Nautica chuckled.

 

“Budge over, Windy.”

 

Windblade rolled her eyes at Nautica and perched on the arm of the couch, cradling her cup in her hands. Nautica suspected there was more than a splash of vodka in it; if it was hooch, Windblade would be _far_ more relaxed. “Brainstorm first,” Windblade directed. “I think it’s something we’ll all appreciate.”

 

Brainstorm’s gift, after Windblade had heard of Brainstorm scaring poor Wheeljack near to death, was something Windblade had come up with. Nautica had been stuck. She knew what Stormy _actually_ wanted, but that wasn’t the point of the gag gift.

 

Brainstorm opened the box with excitement, and his face worked in strange ways as he lifted up the gift, and Thundercracker snorted loudly when he saw the fire extinguisher. “I—what?”

 

“Safety first,” Windblade murmured, and Nautica cackled.

 

Percy received his gift with good grace, and he even managed a full smile at Nautica. Windblade tucked another wrapped package into his bag, a bottle of—Nautica thought it was pear brandy. Skywarp and Thundercracker were opening their own, but she caught Starscream watching how Windblade murmured something to Percy. Nautica wouldn’t describe it as…jealousy, exactly, but more like…possession? He wanted to be by her side.

 

Nautica had been well-rested since her exams had wrapped up a few days ago, and her exhaustion-fueled empathy was nearly gone. She couldn’t read Starscream at all except for his facial expressions, which were never reliable.

 

Thundercracker passed Nautica a gift, and in unwrapping it, she missed Starscream going over to Windblade and passing her an envelope.

 

Windblade glanced down at it. “What is this?”

 

“My gag gift. It’s a little serious too, though.”

 

“Gimme a sec, I want you to open your gift.” She leaned against the back of the couch and smiled up at him. “Yours, Thundercracker, and Skywarp’s gift kind of…go together.”

 

Percy had wandered off in search of a refill, so Starscream stepped in close to Windblade. She leaned her cheek against his stomach as Chromia passed him a package, and Thundercracker was unfolding a t-shirt with a widening smile. Starscream raised a brow down at her as he started to open the box.

 

“What the hell is this?” he squawked once he got a good look at it.

 

“I don’t know, I think it works,” Thundercracker said. Skywarp had already donned his and had placed his hands on his hips with a smirk.

 

Starscream stared at the shirt as though it was diseased. The lettering of IF LOST, RETURN TO THUNDERCRACKER was clearly visible against the scarlet fabric, and Skywarp’s shirt said the same thing. Thundercracker’s shirt, a navy shirt, said I AM THUNDERCRACKER, and Starscream pursed his lips. “I’m not wearing this.”

 

“It’s a gag gift,” Windblade told him gently. “Wear it once for funny pictures, and then turn it into rags, who cares?”

 

“I suddenly feel no guilt for _your_ present.”

 

It was her turn to raise her eyebrows as she unfolded her envelope. The rest of their friends had turned to watching Chromia unwrap her present, and she lifted out a piece of paper that was folded over many times. The top of the paper was something she couldn’t quite focus on—her drink had started to go to her head—but as she read down the list, she couldn’t figure out what it was, precisely.

 

Then she got to ‘anal fisting’ and turned crimson. “W-what is this?!”

 

“A yes, no, or maybe list,” he chirped. “I already filled one out, but you should too.”

 

She read on down the list in horrified fascination, and Nautica turned to her. “Windy? What’s got you so red?”

 

Windblade crumpled the list in her hand. “N-nothing.”

 

“Nothing, Windy, you’ve gone over all feverish.” Nautica glared up at Starscream, who smirked at her. “What did you give her?”

 

“Nothing, Nautica, it’s nothing.”

 

Nautica peered at her. “I don’t believe you,” she decided, and she reached for the crumpled piece of paper.

 

Windblade leaned away and nearly fell off the couch. Starscream caught her, and she squeaked when he threw her over his shoulder. “‘Scuse us. We need to talk.”

 

Nautica frowned, but everyone else took it in stride.

 

Windblade wouldn’t do anything as undignified as drum her fists against his back, but they made eye contact and Nautica mouthed _you okay?_

 

Windblade shrugged. That wasn’t hugely comforting, but Windblade just seemed annoyed, not angry or frustrated.

 

Well. Maybe frustrated.

 

Chromia touched her shoulder and Nautica refocused on their friends. “Whose turn was it?”

 

“Yours,” Percy said.

 

“Oh, right.”

 

For a moment, Windblade thought Starscream was going to take her outside, but there was too strong a chance of them being interrupted, and she relaxed a little when he took her into her room and dropped her on the bed. While she scrambled upright, he closed the door and locked it, and then flopped down onto the bed next to her. “There is actually a purpose to that,” he indicated the still-crumpled piece of paper in her hand.

 

“What, embarrassing me?”

 

“That was just a pleasant side effect. No, I thought we should set out on paper what our sexual boundaries are. I know what can get you off, but when it comes to knowing what you like, I’m stuck because we don’t _talk_ about it.”

 

“I’ve had no complaints thus far,” she murmured.

 

“Yeah, but—look, we’re not really kinky people, at least we haven’t tried to be, but the kinky people are onto something when it comes to navigating hard and soft sexual boundaries. I thought you could fill out yours and then we could go over them together, just so we know what those boundaries are and I won’t offend you accidentally because I want oral and you don’t, or you offend me because I went to kiss, I don’t know, your knee and you kicked me in the face.”

 

She snorted. “Do you foresee a lot of kicking to the face?”

 

He pointed to the paper. “That should prevent most of it.”

 

“Only most of it?”

 

“Well,” he rolled over and threw an arm over her stomach. Her stomach flipped as he nuzzled behind her ear and her skin pebbled over when he murmured against her ear, “I’m not saying I’m _adverse_ to face kicking, but we should really discuss how and when that should happen.”

 

“I should have known you would have a foot fetish,” she sighed.

 

He pinched her side. “Well? Is that so unreasonable?”

 

“I don’t think I know what all of the things on this list are,” she said with just a touch of hesitation. “I’m not hugely aware of what goes on in the kinky community.”

 

He was silent for a moment, but her arm was pressed against the center of his chest, and she could feel how his heartbeat had sped up briefly. “So next week, we’ll sit down and go over it together. I think most of what you don’t know you wouldn’t be comfortable with anyway, but you should make that decision.”

 

“It could be really hard, and I won’t be in the mood afterward if it is,” she warned.

 

“Oh my god, _no_. No, filling out the list isn’t foreplay. That’s why I think we should do it at Megatron’s house, actually. There is no chance of either of us wanting to be in the mood if he’s present also. I mean, not present like he’s actually _in the room_ , but—.”

 

“I know what you mean. Are you sure that it won’t be foreplay, though?”

 

“Discussing why I am not into watersports is definitely enough incentive not to pop a boner,” he said dryly.

 

She pursed her lips. “Um…what’s watersports?”

 

“We’ll talk about that later.” He snuggled against her. “Wanna make out until everyone goes away?”

 

She batted at his shoulder. “I am a _host!_ ”

 

“No, Nautica’s the host.”

 

“If we don’t come back, they’ll gossip,” she said.

 

“So? They gossip anyway.”

 

“I don’t want them to gossip about us having sex,” she said quietly. “I recognize my life doesn’t entirely belong to me these days, but that doesn’t belong to them.”

 

He propped himself up on one hand. “You know there’s nothing malicious in it. More like ‘yeah, girl! Get it!’ Right?”

 

“Maybe,” her voice was reluctance itself even to her ears, “but it’s still not something I want to share.” She pushed at him. “Why is it that you always end up backing me up against the wall in my own bed?”

 

“Clearly this means that you need to rearrange your furniture.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, and she grimaced. “Or not. I like this arrangement.”

 

“Of course you do. Get up, we have people to be with.”

 

“Kiss me first.”

 

“What was it you said the other night?” She cut her eyes at him. “That if you walked me to the door, it would end up in make outs and me talking you into sex? Which is ridiculous, by the way. So let me put it to you this way: if I kiss you, you will just keep kissing me, and then before I know it, Nautica will be knocking down the door on account of _my boyfriend_ literally carrying me off to ravish me, and I am _not_ interested in having that conversation.”

 

“Just one,” he wheedled.

 

She frowned at him, but her heart wasn’t in it. Once the misunderstanding over the list had been clarified, she understood where he had been coming from—even if he had wanted to embarrass her, too. He seemed to finally understand her need for boundaries, and that deserved a reward.

 

So she kissed him quickly, and then pushed him away. “C’mon.”

 

He looked disappointed, but he let her get up. “I’m looking forward to going away,” he told her as she climbed over him and tucked the paper under one of her books to flatten it.

 

“We will get sore,” she reminded him.

 

“But it will be so worth it.” He reached out to palm her ass, and she glared at him over her shoulder.

 

“Watch those hands.”

 

“Oh, I intend to.”

 

She turned around to face him. “I will consent to make-outs after everybody leaves _if_ —.”

 

“If?” he said warily.

 

“If you wear that shirt and let us take pictures.”

 

“No.”

 

“It’s just one night,” it was her turn to wheedle. “Please?” A flash of humor made her grin. “I’ll let you touch my boob.”

 

He snorted. “Well, with an offer like that, how could I possibly refuse?”

 

“You like my boobs,” she pointed out.

 

“Indeed. They fit in my hands just right.” He sighed for dramatic emphasis. “Fine. Just tonight.”

 

“Thank you, dear heart.” The endearment slipped out and her heart froze over, but he just rolled his eyes.

 

“Are we still playing the endearment game? I think I like this one more than the last one.”

 

She breathed out carefully to keep from stuttering her answer. That _would_ give it way. “So I can’t call you smoochie poo?”

 

His face was all the answer she needed, and she breathed easier. Good. She wasn’t ready to tell him yet. It was coming, she knew, and she didn’t think he would step on her heart when she offered it to him, but the old fear of him taking what she was offering and then more was still very present.

 

But she was doing better, and that was worth everything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did actually fill out a yes/no/maybe list for this fic. That's the kind of research I do. Enjoy. 
> 
> Please feed the author.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter's like, really long, even by my standards??? Have fun though. I don't know when I'll be putting up the next and final part, as I am still writing it (we're catching up to where I am), but in the meantime, have this behemoth of a chapter. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented! I am doing better--other opportunities are in the process of revealing themselves, but good vibes are still appreciated. 
> 
> On that note, who is excited that that the latest MTMTE featured professor!Megatron? _Because I am._ Okay, admittedly I am also Very Concerned and Slightly Angry, but I need the silver lining, you know? And what a silver lining it was.
> 
> This chapter takes place over the third week of December and the beginning of the fourth.

**CHAPTER EIGHT: LOVE IS THE ONLY DANGER**

 

_2 Weeks Down_

 

The semester may have been over, but Windblade still had to work on her honors thesis, and the more she could get done over break, the sooner she could begin to edit and prepare for its presentation. Starscream was off cataloguing data for his astrophysics thesis; she was lucky enough to combine both of her majors in her honors thesis, since her thesis of language evolution was a direct result of international action, namely colonialism and imperialism, but Starscream had _two_ to do.

 

Nautica and Chromia were packing and cleaning up after Nautica’s fevered scribblings, so Windblade had escaped the house to Megatron’s to get some work done in the quiet. Optimus was in Washington DC, something about talking to a senator, and Megatron was apparently planning for the apocalypse with mass casserole making. She didn’t mind sitting at the dining room table with her books _so_ much; Megatron brought her the small bits that wouldn’t fit into his freezer containers, and she hadn’t needed to stop for lunch.

 

She was pretty sure Starscream was working in the study. Skyfire had gone home for the holidays, especially since his sublease was up, but there was always data backlog to catch up on. Always.

 

She jumped when Megatron sat down next to her. He reached out to steady her, and she was grateful that she had been in the middle of perusing existing notes; a scrawled line across her notes always made her frustrated enough to rewrite them. “You all right?”

 

“I’m fine. Enough casseroles to last you through the end of the age?” She raised her eyebrows at him and refocused her mind away from her outline.

 

He shrugged. “If beheading doesn’t work, I can always throw frozen lasagnas at the legions of the undead.”

 

“Just be sure to aim for the head,” she said lightly.

 

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, but your gingerbread was lovely.”

 

“Thank you, it’s my grandmother’s recipe, which in turn belonged to one of the first families that made my grandparents feel truly welcome.” Windblade wrinkled her nose. “The history of my family’s recipe books are truly torturous.”

 

“All that being said, I wish to return the favor.” He placed a bulky package on the table, wrapped in silver wrapping paper. “I think it might assist in your future endeavors.” He held up a hand to forestall her protests. “Like we’ve already discussed, our professional and personal relationship is a little…complicated. But I happen to know the author is an authority in her field, and I think you’ll appreciate her.”

 

Still full of trepidation, she lifted up the package and unwrapped it, and when she saw the title, her heart beat a little faster. The book was a true doorstopper, and she wasn’t sure what time she would have to read it—except she could take it with her when she left with Starscream to Asheville. She suspected there was limited internet access.

 

Carefully, she rested _Betrayal of Trust: The Collapse of Global Public Health_ against the table. “Thank you, sir.”

 

Megatron’s eyes crinkled with good humor. “It covers the history of what we would consider public health in the modern definition of it, and no matter what you choose to do for your career post-bachelor’s degree, I think it will be helpful for you.” He tapped the cover. “She’s written other books, some more dated than this one, and some of this will be dated for you, but…it should be helpful.”

 

“You have more varied interests than I would have suspected,” she confessed.

 

He laughed. “Would you believe I publish poetry under a pseudonym?”

 

“ _No_ ,” she breathed.

 

“My name’s too well linked with politics for my poetry to be taken seriously, so I publish it under something else,” he shrugged. “Optimus reads it over for me before I submit it to my publisher. I nearly laughed my head off when I found out one of the professors in the English department uses it for their Black Literature class.”

 

“That’s quite a compliment.”

 

“Oh, I’m not arguing that, but the professor and I often get into it on the subject of respectability politics. I’m not in favor, they are, and my poetry at times criticizes it. There was some irony present.”

 

She smiled slightly. “I can appreciate that.” She tucked the book into her bag. “I should probably get back to work.”

 

He stretched. “I’m going to go to campus for the boxing class they’re still running. I’ll be gone for about two, two and a half hours. If you wanted to take advantage of that, there’s no judgment.”

 

She flushed at the insinuation. “Um, no thank you, sir.”

 

“It’s all right. I’m sure you both want to take advantage of post-exam euphoria.”

 

“Megatron!” she squeaked.

 

He grinned. “I was wondering what it would take for you to use my name. Good to know.”

 

She pointed at the door. “ _Out_.”

 

He grinned just a little wider and left, and as soon as the door closed, Windblade closed up her notes and wandered up the stairs. Starscream was frowning at his data with that wrinkle between his brows that meant he’d been confused for a while and was starting to get angry about it. She sat down on the couch and waited for him to notice her, and when it took longer than a moment, she laid down.

 

The movement caught his eye, and he looked over at her. “Windblade?”

 

“Are you ready to take a break?”

 

“And do what?” he licked his lips, just enough to be obvious, and she rolled her eyes at him.

 

“To go over that list, of course.”

 

“Oh, of course.” He frowned again. “Let me solve this one thing and save, and then we can.”

 

“Do you want something to drink?”

 

“Actually, why don’t we do this downstairs? I haven’t eaten all day.”

 

It was her turn to frown. “Megatron was cooking literally all day.”

 

“He doesn’t bother me when I’m up here,” Starscream dismissed. “Go downstairs, you’re distracting. I’ll be down shortly.”

 

“If it’s longer than ten minutes, I’m coming to get you,” she warned, but she did as instructed. She didn’t know Megatron’s kitchen well enough to feel comfortable really cooking in it, but she knew where he kept the bread, and she could make a sandwich.

 

If Starscream made a sandwich joke, she would drop it in his lap.

 

She opened the refrigerator door, and to her surprise found a wrapped plate in there. Megatron had written ‘FOR STARSCREAM (when he wakes up)’ on it, and she took it out and put it in the microwave. From there, she found two glasses and filled them with some iced tea, and then she settled in to wait.

 

She had brought the list with her, though perusing it made her blush something awful, and she busied herself with pushing away her notes and pulling out her laptop. Starscream announced his presence by running his hand over the top of her head while wandering into the kitchen, and she shivered a little. “Microwave,” she called.

 

“Mm,” he replied noncommitally. “You’ve got the juice?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

He wandered back out, and she made some room for him at the table. The particular casserole bit Megatron had put aside was meatloaf with mashed potatoes on top, and Windblade had liked it when he’d brought her a bit. Starscream ate quickly while Windblade tapped her fingers on the table as her laptop warmed up, and by the time she had Google ready and waiting, his plate was clean. He rested it on top of her thickest textbook and moved closer to her, and she pushed the list toward him. “I filled out what I knew.”

 

He scanned the list quickly as he sipped his tea. It was about what he expected of her, but he paused at ‘slutty clothing’. She watched him pause, but he merely continued to drink his tea and go on down the list. Anxiety set her stomach fluttering, and then he put the list down. “Did you look through mine?”

 

She nodded. “I—am not sure where I stand on the bondage question.”

 

“How intricate?”

 

She pointed to Shibari. “I know a little about it, but nowhere near enough to have feelings about it.”

 

He shuffled through his list and pointed out some of his own kinks to her. She had suspected he had a submissive streak, but that it needed to be earned. They were eerily similar in that regard, although her defiance was less visible than his. While she read the notes he’d left in the margins—his scrawl unusually neat—he pulled her laptop toward him and typed something into Google, and then he tilted the screen to show her.

 

Windblade’s breath caught in her throat at the images. The knotwork was far too intricate for her to follow, but it was beautiful. Starscream hadn’t bothered to search for women caught in the ropework, accurately suspecting that she had no interest in being tied up in such a way, but to imagine _Starscream_ …Her eyelids fluttered at the mental image of him bound in such way, kneeling at her feet and leaning into her hand on his cheek, and she blinked. “O-okay,” she said hoarsely, “I’m willing to consider that.”

 

He made a mark, and then looked at her. “Can I ask you a question?”

 

“You already did,” she told him.

 

He rolled his eyes. “What’s your issue with oral? I’m not complaining, really, you have a right to have things you like and don’t, but we’ve never talked about it.”

 

“Bad experience,” she shrugged. “And—I also feel it’s a little degrading. I don’t get off on humiliation, so those two things coupled together equal a complete lack of interest.”

 

He nodded, considering how he’d had to ease her into trying something new earlier that year. “Okay.”

 

“You’re not going to try to talk me into it?”

 

“I would hope that you know if you want to try it, that I wouldn’t do anything you’d find it difficult, but it’s only if you want to. There are some things I’d willing to persuade you to try—like tying me to the bed or using blindfolds on you—but that one’s all you.”

 

She reached out to squeeze his hand, and they continued on down the list. “You have a lot of clothing kinks,” she commented.

 

“And you don’t, miss ‘lingerie’ and ‘slutty clothing’.”

 

She traced whorls on his wrist. “I find something intriguing in the notion of wearing lingerie that you watch me put on in the morning but you aren’t allowed to touch until that night.”

 

“Well _done_. I thought you had a dominant streak, and I have been _dying_ to see it.” He smirked.

 

“There’s an element of trust in that kind of power exchange,” she mused, “whether giving or receiving. I trust you not to misuse it.”

 

He pointed to the leather handcuffs that she had made a mark by. “I guess my relationship to power exchange is rooted in the same notion, but that you trust me to have control over you, or vice versa.”

 

“So I have a trust kink, and you have a control kink. Together, we could rule the world,” she said with amusement.

 

“Marks?” he said, looking on down the list. “I didn’t think you would like it.”

 

“I don’t want marks where other people can see them. It’s—inviting them to observe our sex life, and I don’t want that. It belongs to us alone.”

 

“And see, I like the casual possession of it, but I guess I could work with that _if_ when we’re alone, you let me mark up what I will when we know we won’t be observed.”

 

“You’ll be harder to mark up than me,” she pointed out.

 

He shrugged, his smirk widening. “That’s not _my_ fault.”

 

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Spreader bars?”

 

“For when I’m disobedient or something. It’s not a necessity,” he waved a hand, “but maybe later, when we’re more used to this, something to consider.”

 

“No, I mean—what are they?”

 

“Oh!” he typed something, and her eyebrows rose at the images that followed.

 

“Maybe something to consider,” she allowed.

 

They were approaching the end of the list, and she pointed at roleplay. “Because you and I are _so_ good at stepping outside of ourselves.”

 

“We can negotiate the scenarios and all that, but it could be really fun. That’s the whole premise parody porn is built on, you know.”

 

She made a face. “Yes, _that’s_ what I want to associate with our sex lives.”

 

“So no videotaping, then?”

 

She turned bright red. “Things are too easily hacked, and you want to get elected!” she protested.

 

“I was teasing, I know you’re not into exhibitionism, even if the audience is implied.” He tapped the top of her hand. “Slow play, too, I think. Teasing as torture.”

 

“You mean that one time that you went down on me until I cried?”

 

“Yeah, like that. It could be really fun to reverse it.”

 

She pursed her lips in thought. “I’ll consider that.”

 

“Now, the one thing if we do kinky stuff with safewords, which if bondage and blindfolds and stuff are involved, we _have_ to have—what are aftercare issues?” He rested his chin on his hand. She liked him like this, where he was teasing but not to the point of true embarrassment, and his good humor showed through. “Touch helps bring me out of it, whenever I did something ‘officially’ kinky. Talking, too.”

 

“I’ve never done anything hugely kinky—.”

 

“Imagine my surprise.”

 

“But I’d think it would be similar. Whenever I have an anxiety attack, touch helps anchor me. I can’t think that anything kinky would be different.”

 

“I don’t like that you’re comparing sex to anxiety, but that’s probably a fair comparison.” He peered at her. “Are there any outstanding sex issues that I should know about, instead of inadvertently triggering you?”

 

She considered the question. “I don’t like hair pulling,” she said. “Not painful hair pulling. You tugging on my braid is whatever. I don’t like being called a whore.”

 

“Someone did that?”

 

“He watched too much porn and thought it would be fun. He failed to consider me in the equation.” She shook her head. “No humiliation. Nothing makes me step outside of my desire faster. What about you?”

 

He shrugged. “I don’t have any real issues that I know of, but safewords are important. That one I’m not willing to bend on.”

 

She met his gaze. “No argument here. It’s about us being comfortable with each other and trusting each other to stop. I’m not going to go against that.”

 

He relaxed. “Good. We can keep the list and revisit as needed. Some things that were hard boundaries might have softened, or we might try something and hate it.”

 

“Not a bad plan,” she replied, though she thought it sounded like he had decided they were to be a permanent arrangement. Her stomach fluttered at that. “This was a good idea, initial presentation aside.”

 

“I liked how I presented it, thanks. That was a ridiculous shirt.”

 

“There’s no denying Thundercracker is the most responsible out of the three of you,” she said, “and you had this planned before you knew what my gift was.”

 

He made a face at her. “What _ever_.”

 

“Is there anything else we should discuss? While we’re on this topic and comfortable with it?”

 

He pursed his lips. “No, not really. Not unless you want to talk about watersports.”

 

She tilted her head. “What _are_ watersports?”

 

He grimaced. “It’s…people wanted to be pissed and shat on, or doing the pissing and shitting.”

 

Her face went through an interesting paroxysm, where her face turned red and then grey, and he hid a grin. “I know that people have their kinks, but— _people can get sick!_ ”

 

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “People can be stupid.”

 

She frowned. “Let’s keep that kind of thoughtlessness out of our sex lives, please.”

 

“Agreed.” He laid his head down on the table, and she reached out to touch him, but she hesitated. He turned to look at her. “You can touch me. It’s okay.”

 

“I don’t want to touch your hair without your consent.”

 

He looked her over. “Is that why you’ve never touched my hair? Even in,” he winked, “ _other_ circumstances?”

 

“Yes,” she admitted, “I know it’s a thing, and I didn’t want to make it a thing.”

 

He turned that over in his head. “You’re not touching it just to _touch_ it. I’m okay with it.”

 

“Will you tell me when you’re not?”

 

“Duh.” He grabbed her wrist and placed her hand on top of his head, and she started to gently massage his scalp, and he closed his eyes.

 

Megatron found them there an hour later, Starscream fast asleep at the dining room table and Windblade immersed in her thesis. She smiled at Megatron and pressed her finger to her lips, and he nodded and went upstairs. It was time to call Optimus, anyway, and he didn’t think they wanted to hear it.

 

—

 

Percy stretched his legs. The drive up to Pennsylvania had taken all day and then some; all three of them had switched off driving, since Chromia didn’t want to stop.

 

But in any case, they had finally arrived, and Nautica had gone upstairs and immediately gone to sleep. Chromia’s parents had fixed him and Chromia a cup of cocoa and then gone to bed themselves, and he watched her swirl her mug around slightly on the wraparound porch. Her parents’ home’s porch was not in the front of the house but in the back, and their house faced trees and the like.

 

He cleared his throat. “This is a lovely home.”

 

“Thanks.” Chromia hid a yawn behind her hand.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

“Tired.” Chromia sipped her cocoa.

 

Percy felt a flare of frustration. _He_ had come out here to drink his cocoa and calm his mind down before heading to bed; Chromia had followed _him_.

 

“Sorry,” she said abruptly. “I get grumpy when I’m tired.”

 

“I’ve heard,” he said acerbically.

 

She laughed once. “Did you really not want to stay around school over the holidays?”

 

“I miss England more during the holidays. I wasn’t—am not—very close to my family, but I miss home. It’s agreeable to be distracted, and it’s even more agreeable to be invited to share the holidays.”

 

She looked startled, as though he’d said something that shifted how she looked at him. “I’m trying to propose to Nautica,” she blurted. “I’m just trying to find the right time.”

 

He blinked. “You two will make a good match. Congratulations.”

 

“I haven’t asked her yet,” Chromia groused. “I keep trying.”

 

“I’m sure you’ll manage.” He sipped from his cup. “Does she know it’s coming?”

 

“I’m hoping to surprise her, but in a good way. I’m pretty sure she’s going to say yes, we’ve been going strong for a _long_ time, and we’ve been through things older, more established couples haven’t.”

 

“You don’t need to justify it to me. I’ve seen how stable you two are.”

 

Chromia grinned and ducked her head. “I’m just a little nervous.”

 

“I understand.” He finished his cocoa. “I’m heading up to bed, but there’s no need to growl at me.”

 

“I growl at everybody,” Chromia waved a hand. “It means you’re in the friend group.”

 

“I’m so pleased,” he said, dry.

 

She shoved him lightly. “Go up to bed, Percy. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

 

“More like _noon_.”

 

“Yeah, I know we drove for a really long time.”

 

“I’ve never slept in vehicles before,” he reflected. “But I slept in your car.”

 

“It helps that the roads we took were well maintained.” Chromia hid a yawn.

 

“Good night, Chromia.”

 

“Good night, Percy.”

 

Percy went back inside and made sure to put his mug in the dishwasher, and then he wandered upstairs. Chromia’s parents’ home was a traditional Colonial-style house, with three bedrooms and what he suspected was a bedroom converted into an office. The two guest rooms were smaller, but at the moment (and he suspected for the rest of the trip),he couldn’t care less. There was a bed, and that was all he needed.

 

He fell onto the bed, and fell asleep shortly thereafter.

 

—

 

_1 Week Down_

 

Nautica propped her feet on Chromia’s lap and dialed Windblade’s cell. Christmas had gone quietly—Chromia’s parents weren’t huge holiday people and believed in one gift per person—but Christmas was always hard on Windy.

 

“Hello?” Windblade asked, and Nautica put the phone on speaker.

 

“You’re here with me and Chromia,” Nautica said cheerfully. “How was Christmas?”

 

“You know we don’t celebrate it,” Windblade was pointed, and Nautica wrote that down to the stress of being at home. Her mother always brought out the worst in her.

 

“Still,” Nautica needled. “Dinner?”

 

“Fine. You?”

 

“Oh, we had a wonderful time. We told Chromia’s parents that Percy loved space and science, and they found him this glass model of the solar system. I don’t know where they found it, but they did, and I thought Percy was going to cry.”

 

“It’s not just Nautica exaggerating,” Chromia cut in. “He was really touched.”

 

“Good,” the sharp note in Windblade’s voice was gone. “Was it okay? Dinner was okay?”

 

“It’s not hugely formal at my house,” Chromia’s hands found one of Nautica’s feet and began to massage it. “Not like yours. We did kimchi, rice, all that. I don’t think Percy has ever had such a Korean meal.”

 

“I miss kimchi,” Windblade said wistfully. “That, and pickled vegetables. Mother loves the French style, so that’s what we had, but I miss all of that.”

 

Nautica softened. “We’ll bring some back for you.”

 

“By the time you’re home, I’ll be gone,” Windblade reminded her. “I’m coming back tomorrow morning, and leaving the following day. You won’t be back until Thursday.”

 

“It’s _pickled_ ,” Chromia said. “It’ll be fine. Are you nervous?”

 

“Nervous?” Windblade asked vaguely.

 

Nautica and Chromia exchanged looks, and Chromia dug her fingers into a knot at Nautica’s arch. She smothered a yelp and straightened, and Chromia softened her grip and squeezed Nautica’s foot in apology. “Yeah, nervous,” Nautica followed up. “You’re gonna be alone with him for a long time. So are you nervous?”

 

“No,” Windblade was too quick.

 

“You are,” Chromia said. This sort of double-teaming usually worked best in roommate cuddle puddles, but Windblade was never so rude as to hang up on them. “It’s okay, you know. To be nervous.”

 

Windblade breathed in carefully, and her breath hitched. “I’m—we’re going to have sex. I’m not afraid of that, I think I’m ready, but it’s the knowing that we’ve finally reached romantic equilibrium, and we’re planning on emotional and sexual committments beyond the immediate. We’re talking like we’re going to last, and that scares me so much.”

 

Chromia reached out to grab Nautica’s hand. “You like stability,” Nautica told her gently.

 

“But he’s not an overwhelmingly stable person,” Windblade said quietly. “He’s not the person I would have…envisioned.”

 

“No one is,” Chromia said. “If they were, it would like Pygmalion and that never ends well for anyone.”

 

Windblade snorted. “I don’t know if I’d call him a forever someone.”

 

“That’s the joy of figuring it out, though,” Nautica chirped. “You love him, you’re _in_ love with him, and he loves you. He’s made changes you don’t even know about, because your relationship has made him rethink who he is as a person. He’s always going to be a selfish asshole, but he’s so much less selfish than he was. You can figure it out along the way. If it gets to be too much, well,” she shrugged, “you value yourself more than you value the relationship, and that’s important.”

 

“What if I don’t?”

 

“We won’t let you,” Chromia said. “I promise.”

 

Windblade breathed out. “Okay, so how’s the weather? It’s been lovely down here, but you all are several states away.”

 

“It’s pretty cold, and there’s some snow, but we’re gonna be okay. I think I’m going to get Percy and Chromia into a snowball fight tomorrow.” Nautica brighted. “You should get Screamer like that!”

 

“I have, actually,” Windblade giggled. “But I probably will. We’re going skiing too, apparently.”

 

“I would pay actual money to watch you on two wooden sticks going down a mountain,” Nautica reflected, and Chromia choked silently. She reached out to smack Nautica’s side, and Nautica grinned at her.

 

“Thanks, Nautica.”

 

“I mean it! I just don’t imagine you sporty that way. Make Screamer take pictures.”

 

“Tell him yourself.” Windblade grumbled, but she wasn’t so nervous anymore, Nautica could tell.

 

“I will! He likes me.” Chromia frowned at her. “Not like _that_ , ew gross. But he’d be willing to do me that solid.”

 

“Should I be concerned?” Windblade said dryly.

 

“Oh no, definitely not. Hey, you two had that conversation about sexual boundaries, right?”

 

She could almost hear Windblade blushing. “Y-yeah?”

 

“Did he say where he got that list?”

 

“No, but I’m sure you can Google it.”

 

Chromia and Nautica had discussed it a little, and that it would be a good idea for them, even though they were fairly vanilla. The idea behind it, which is what Windblade had said in passing, was to negotiate what were and were not boundaries and what consent would look like for that, and it was a good idea to talk about it. “That might be a good idea.” Nautica leaned her back against the headboard of the bed. “So are you preparing for the sex marathon?”

 

Windblade choked. “Nautica!”

 

“Oh please, like that boy isn’t going to take you to bed and not letting you leave until you’ve both had multiple orgasms,” Nautica dismissed.

 

Chromia covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Windblade made dial-up noises as she tried to figure out a response, and she subsided when she didn’t have one.

 

“It’s all in good fun, Windy,” Nautica told her. “No maliciousness here.”

 

“I don’t—it’s weird to invite other people to our sex life. I know I talk about it—.”

 

“Rarely,” Chromia said.

 

“Rarely,” Windblade allowed. “But that doesn’t mean I want everyone to know.”

 

“We’re not everyone,” Nautica said. “We’re family. So when we tease you about the sex you’re going to have, it’s in the ‘get it, girl’ way.”

 

“I know, but. It’s all snarled up in my head.”

 

These conversations were _definitely_ better in the roommate cuddle puddle. “Let him do some unsnarling,” Nautica recommended.

 

Windblade, thank god, laughed. “He’d certainly like to do that.”

 

“How’s your mom? Bothering you too much?”

 

“No, she’s just really solictious. She wants to know how I’m doing and to take care of me.”

 

“Like she hasn’t really been,” Nautica snarked.

 

“I’m trying to make my peace with her,” Windblade said, “but we’re not ready to have that conversation yet. We’re getting there.”

 

“If you say so.” Nautica was dubious.

 

“I can respect that she’s trying,” Windblade said with a sigh. “My phone is dying and I should really go to bed. Let me know that you all get home safe?”

 

“As long as you do the same,” Chromia said sternly.

 

“I heed and obey,” Windblade said wryly. “Night, you two.”

 

“Night, Windy.”

 

—

 

Windblade stored the last bag in Starscream’s SUV. They had intended to leave three hours earlier, but life had happened—Starscream had overslept, and she had forgotten to move her load from the washer to the dryer—but they were finally heading out. “You want me to drive?” she asked, hiding a yawn behind her hand. “At least part of the way?”

 

Starscream drained the last of his coffee.”Nah, I’m good. Besides, there’s a back road I like to take and it’ll be easier if I drive, at least on the way up. Let me go wash this and then we can head out.”

 

She found her small bag and went to slide into the passenger seat. She plugged her MP3 player into the aux player and started to scan through her music library, and settled on a collection of works by Rimsky-Korsakov. She settled in—the music wouldn’t start playing until the ignition was started, and Starscream had the keys. The cold made her shiver, but she hated still air with a passion, and the damp chilly wind was better than no wind.

 

Starscream came out of the house, and she got out to lock the door. He started the car and _Miada_ began to play, and when she got in, he made a face at her. “Russian composers? Really?”

 

“We can play it low,” she said as she found her pillow and leaned it against the window, “but it’s something.”

 

“Are you going to sleep?” he demanded.

 

“Maybe. We’ll see. I’m tired, and it’s a long drive.”

 

“It is.” He reached into the back and found a blanket—she felt more comfortable drooling on her own pillow and blanket—and she pulled it over herself as he drove out of her driveway. “I called my guy to make sure that the power works and everything. We’re up the mountain, and it’s not unusual for the power to cut out during storms or even bad wind. He’s to check the generator and make sure we have enough firewood and everything.”

 

“Sounds good,” she said, “but I’m guessing that this is why there’s no real good WiFi.”

 

“Yeah,” he admitted. “The house was built before electric lights became popular, and so while it was renovated—it was my mom’s pet project before she took over her dad’s seat on the hedge fund board—it’s never been quite as reliable as some of the houses built after. There’s a shit-ton of candles up there, and probably always will be.”

 

“Did the location have anything to do with the difficulty of renovation?”

 

He hummed. “The Blue Ridge Mountains aren’t hugely tall mountains—they’re not sheer or anything like that, they’re really craggy—but the wind can be _terrible_. Who knows why it’s so difficult to maintain the renovation. It might have just been my mother, or it might have been how the house was designed. It’ll make sense when you see it.”

 

“Okay,” she yawned. “M’gonna nap now.”

 

“I’ll wake you up for lunch,” he said as he patted her leg.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Windblade slept off and on. At one point, Starscream cursed, and she snapped awake to see a sea of brakelights. “Wha’s going on?”

 

“An accident,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road. “Go back to sleep.”

 

She dozed as the car started and stopped, and finally he snarled and took a sharp turn. She startled, and sat upright. “The back road?”

 

“This’ll get us there. Are you hungry?”

 

She considered the question. “No, not really. Why?”

 

“Because there is nothing for at least an hour.”

 

“I can manage that,” she assured him. “Do you want me to take over? You can tell me what roads to take.”

 

“No,” he admitted, “because I’m still tired, and if I end up in the passenger seat, I’ll sleep, and that’s not helpful. Plus, nap hangover.”

 

“But if you’re that tired, should you be driving?”

 

“I’m still riding that caffeine high, I’m doing okay.”

 

She subsided. He had a sharp note in his voice, and she didn’t want to press him. “I’ve never been in rural South Carolina,” she commented a little later.

 

“Sorry the sky’s so overcast,” he said distantly. “It’s really pretty in the spring.”

 

“Weather’s not your fault,” she teased idly.

 

He didn’t bother to respond, and she sensed some tension. “Starscream? What’s wrong?”

 

“What?” he finally looked away from the road.

 

“What’s wrong?” she said again.

 

“Nothing’s wrong.”

 

“Now you’re lying to me.”

 

He sighed. “It’s been a while. Last time I went, it was with a group of friends from boarding school.”

 

“So you’re not sure what to expect?”

 

“Yeah—something like that. Plus, I hate traffic.”

 

“I don’t think anyone really _likes_ it.”

 

“Yeah, well.”

 

Silence descended again, but it wasn’t tense anymore. He hadn’t been lying when he said country road; Windblade saw no signs of life whatsoever as Starscream urged the vehicle on. There was, on the plus side, no police, and she guessed it was because there were so few to actually travel the road that it wasn’t profitable for them.

 

 _Miada_ finished and _Scherazade_ began, and she resettled against the seat. She didn’t know what else to say, and she checked the temperature on the dash. They had officially crossed in North Carolina, and it was under freezing. “What’s the weather look like for this week?” she asked.

 

“Beautiful for the first few days, and then they’re suspecting a blizzard. Anything can happen, though, so there might be a storm, might not be.”

 

“I’ve never been in a blizzard,” she reflected.

 

He snorted. “It’s not fun. Snow-blind is awful.”

 

“Snow-blind?”

 

“The snow piles up, and of course it’s white, so the sunlight reflects on it and it can be blinding. It’s happened to me. Once. _Never_ again.”

 

She winced. “How did you get there?”

 

“I was skiing, the light hit my eyes in the exact wrong way, and then I got hit. I’d stopped at the top of a hill, and sweat was gathering under my eye googles, so I’d lifted them to wipe away the sweat and then,” he glanced over at her. “I couldn’t go anywhere for a while. I would have hit so many trees.”

 

“And snow-blind is something that happens in blizzards?”

 

“And avalanches. It’s a hazard of going out into the snow. Avalanches are probably worse, but thankfully the Blue Ridge doesn’t have the right shape for avalanches to be a huge threat.”

 

She had a suspicion. “Do you watch Discover Channel documentaries?”

 

“What? No!”

 

“You _do_ ,” she said. “That’s okay. Nautica watches them too.”

 

“I’m not a documentary person,” he protested.

 

“But I’m guessing that Neil DeGrasse Tyson has a strong presence in your Netflix queue.”

 

“C’mon, fellow black astrophysicist? Represent.”

 

“Okay, okay,” she poked his arm.

 

“Are you bored?”

 

“Just a little. I’m not good on long car drives.”

 

“A diner’s coming up soon, if I remember correctly. I’ll pull over and we can get a bite to eat.”

 

“Okay. How do you know this road so well?”

 

“My first year here, I had a lot of pent-up rage. At Megatron, at my parents, at, well, everybody. Megatron told me to stop taking my grief out on him, and that’s when I bought this car. I would just…drive. I’d go everywhere I could on a tank of gas, and I got to know all the back roads really well. I learned to avoid Georgia—didn’t feel safe there, and carrying some kind of weapon in my car was just asking for trouble. So I drove, and I did risky behaviors like sky diving, and I finally got my head cleared.”

 

She wasn’t sure how to touch that subject. It was the most he had given her in a while about his feelings about his parents, and while she didn’t want to make light of it, she doubted he would say anything more if she pressed. “I’ve always wanted to go skydiving,” she said after a beat. “It looks exhilarating.”

 

“I would not have called that—you wanting to skydive.”

 

“I might be reserved emotionally, but that doesn’t mean I’m afraid of _heights_ ,” she said primly.

 

He laughed. “Okay, fair. We can get a group together when the weather’s better—Thundercracker and Skywarp love it too.”

 

“Imagine my surprise.”

 

He snorted and signalled that he was turning right, and they pulled into a McDonald’s. “I know, I know, it’s not what you—.”

 

“It’s fine,” she interrupted. “It’s already a long drive, I get it.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

They ate quickly and left, and they talked companionably and quietly. He described the adrenaline and the exhilarion of skydiving, and she enthused about it in turn.

 

It started to snow lightly as they headed toward Asheville, and the sun was setting by the time they stopped at the grocery store. “It’ll be quick, I already put in the order,” he promised.

 

“Do you need some help getting them into the car?”

 

“No, it’s okay. Besides, it’s cold.”

 

“It’ll be cold for you too,” she protested, but he was already heading out.

 

She fidgeted in her seat until he came back, laden with bags. She got out and opened the trunk, and he grumbled at her. “I could have had it.”

 

“Well, now we don’t run the risk of you dropping anything.”

 

“That wasn’t a risk,” he whined, and she ducked inside the car, back into the warmth.

 

“Say ‘thank you’, Starscream.”

 

“Thank you, Starscream.”

 

She pouted at him as he got in the car. “So what’s the plan for tonight?”

 

“Food and sleep, basically,” he said. “We can talk about the rest of the vacation tomorrow, but I’m exhausted.”

 

She touched his arm. “Why didn’t you sleep well last night?”

 

He shrugged off her touch. “I’m not sure.”

 

She left it alone. He would probably sleep better that night, anyway.

 

It was another twenty minutes until they reached the house, and she peered at it through the windshield as they approached. It was a tall, narrow house built into the side of the mountain, and she asked, “Was there supposed to be a light on?”

 

“Yeah,” he said, “so I’m kind of wondering why it’s not.”

 

“The power might have flickered off. C’mon, let’s go in. It’s too cold to stay out here.” The garage door was open already, but she could see that the door leading out of the garage had several locks. “Is the garage door open because—?”

 

“He left it open. If the power goes out, there’s no good way to open the garage, and I really don’t want to leave the car exposed overnight.” Starscream turned the car off and got out his keys, and Windblade got out of the car. While he was getting the door open, she could start to bring in some of the bags.

 

“If the power’s not working, what we doing with the perishables?” she called, seeing milk, butter, bacon and eggs in the bag.

 

“There’s a wide windowsill in the kitchen, and the window should be cold enough for now.” He got the door open and propped it to stay open. “We can always fill the sink with snow.”

 

“I see,” she said dryly. She had a suspicion the milk was going to spoil.

 

“Actually, let’s do the snow thing,” he said. “It’ll be safer.”

 

“Okay.” She crossed over the threshold, and she looked around as she put down the bags on the counter. The cabinets were wood—big surprise—and she suspected the countertops were granite. Mother had done research a few years ago on different types of countertops, and she had been leaning toward granite, but in the meantime, Windblade had been dragged to _six_ different stores that did cabinets and countertops and had been given a thorough education in each.

 

(Mother ended up going with Formica. It was easier to disinfect).

 

“It’s c-cold in here,” she said, rubbing her arms. She had left her coat in the car and was bitterly regretting it.

 

“I’ll get a fire going and call my guy. Generator’s not big enough to handle heating the entire house.” Starscream disappeared through the door and Windblade made herself start to unpack the bags and put them away. Groceries mattered before anything else.

 

She was in the pantry when she heard him pour snow into the sink, and when she stuck her head out, she saw him disappearing back out the door. She put the perishables in the sink and went back to stocking the pantry, and she noted the veggies.

 

The kitchen was very cold, and colder with the door open. She shivered as she placed dried apples on the pantry shelf, and she heard Starscream curse. “You okay?”

 

“Wood’s heavy,” he grunted. “M’fine.”

 

“Okay,” she said dubiously. She left him to it and started to bring in the luggage. They had both packed, um, a lot, since they would be gone for 11 days, and Windblade muttered invective at herself for packing so many books. Would she _really_ have time to read them all? She hadn’t been on a vacation in such a long time, and the last one she had been on only lasted three days! Of course she overprepared!

 

She brought the luggage to the living room and stopped. The living room was narrow and long, but where the south wall would be, it was entirely glass. “Um—,” she pointed to it, “how is that helpful?”

 

He glanced at it from the fireplace. “The glass is six feet thick,” he said boredly. “It matches the thickness of the timbers. It’s also specially insulated. When it’s not snowing, the view is spectacular.”

 

She was starting to suspect his family was stupid rich, instead of merely rich. “I’m gonna—leave the luggage here.”

 

She fled back into the garage and brought in more luggage. Starscream was blowing on the tinder and feeding it kindling, and on her third trip he had managed to fire the logs. “What do you want to do for dinner?” she asked, leaning against the frame. The couch looked comfortable—it was wide and plush-looking—and the fire was already throwing offf welcome heat.

 

“Something easy,” he rasped, dusting off his hands. “I think there’s some soup.”

 

“Yeah, I can heat that up.” She rubbed her arms. “Will the water work? Wait, is this on well water?”

 

“Yes, the water will work, no, we aren’t on well water.” He propped his chin on his knee. “Thanks for that.”

 

“It was a legitimate question,” she protested. “Your power goes out if the wind blows too hard!”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” He pushed himself upright. “My guy’ll be here in the morning, crack of dawn. He’ll fix it up.”

 

“Do you ever actually see him?”

 

“Occasionally,” he stopped next to her and kissed her forehead sarcastically. “But he’s super introverted and I think he also has Asperger’s, so he doesn’t necessarily like to do one-on-one. He does good work, so we communicate largely through text. Is that good enough?”

 

“You’re grumpy,” she said, patting his cheek. “Are we closing the garage?”

 

“I’ll do it. I have to get wood for the bedroom fireplace.”

 

She wrinkled her nose. “Oh right.”

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll add on plenty of blankets. I would hate for your Southern toesies to get cold.”

 

“Your family lived in _Virginia_.”

 

“And I went to boarding schools in _New England_. Let me tell you, there is _nothing_ like New England cold.”

 

She made a face at him. “North Dakota might disagree with you.”

 

“It’s a good thing we don’t live there.”

 

She pointed to the door. “Go.”

 

He left.

 

She went into the pantry and found the soup she had put away, and it had a pop tab, so she didn’t need to hunt for a can opener. The pot, however, was a little bit harder, but she found one, and she swiveled the faucet so that she could wash it.

 

He went past her as she dried her pot, and she shivered in the draft. It was so cold.

 

Stirring the soup was boring, but at least the open flame was warm. She considered holding her hands to the flame, but that was too much.

 

Starscream draped himself over her. “You know, you _could_ put a coat on.”

 

“Why, when you’re doing such a good job?”

 

He snorted, and her neck went all goosebumps. “You just like having me all over you.”

 

“You’ve figured it out,” she deadpanned, stirring the soup a bit more. It was starting to bubble in the way that meant it was getting close to perfect eating temperature without actualy boiling. “Everything I do is just a ploy to get you to touch me. Oh no, what will I do now?”

 

“You made that joke longer than it needed to be.”

 

“Yeah, I thought so about halfway through the sentence, but I thought I should see it through.”

 

“Sometimes, quitting while you’re ahead is a good idea.”

 

“And do you take your own advice?” She lifted the spoon to his mouth. “Try this.”

 

He made a face at her and leaned forward. “Should be a little hotter.”

 

“Okay.”

 

His arms came around her, and she sighed into the hold. He was clingier than he would ever admit to, but she was at the point where she liked being touching by him, even if it wasn’t sexual. Her sigh turned more annoyed as his hand crept up to squeeze her boob. “I am still _cooking_.”

 

“You’re warming up soup,” he said in her ear. “No work was done there.”

 

“Sex and stoves don’t mix,” she said primly.

 

“But I like to live dangerously.”

 

“You can live on Danger Island alone.” The soup was actively boiling, and she flipped off the gas. “Bowls?”

 

“Easier for mugs.” He picked himself up and off her to go search through the cabinets. She continued to stir the soup to keep the bottom from burning, and he brought the mugs over. She poured the soup into both of them and removed the pot to the sink, and he waved a hand at it. “Leave it. We can take care of it later.”

 

They returned to the living room, where the fireplace was finally throwing enough heat that she was almost comfortable. They sat on the floor, and he tucked his socked foot underneath her thigh. She squeezed his ankle, and she watched the snow fall outside the window. “This isn’t just a house to you, is it,” she said quietly, “it’s your home.”

 

He shrugged, the movement nearly jostling her mug off her leg. She rescued it before it could spill on her pants, and he made a face at her. “It’s too cold to be my home.”

 

“But you’re happy here.”

 

“Yeah, I am. The roof is flat—Dad insisted on that—and there are still telescopes here. When it’s not,” he gestured to the window, “I can show you some of my favorite constellations.”

 

“That sounds nice,” she said as she sipped from her mug. “Are you going to get rid of this house?”

 

He scuffed his other foot against the rug. “Megatron thinks I should.”

 

“Don’t,” she said.

 

“Why?”

 

“Politics make no one very happy. You can be satisfied you outsmarted someone or got something you wanted, but it’s a grind, and career politicians, like what you want to be, don’t end up being hugely pleasant people.” She placed her warm fingers—warm from the mug—against the skin of his ankle, and he jolted. “You need something good for you. If that’s what this house is, keep it. Spin it however you want, if that’s the issue. You should have something that’s apolitical and matters.”

 

He looked away from her, and she wondered if she finally had made him speechless. “Give me your mug,” she said briskly. “We have some unpacking to do and then we’ll go to bed, so you get the fire started and I’ll do the dishes.”

 

“Kay.” He pushed himself to his feet and then offered his hand. She took it, and they split off to their separate tasks.

 

She remembered enough firecraft to bank the fire—not put it out entirely, but to contain it—and then starting pulling bags up the stairs. The staircase was more narrow than she would have liked, but the whole house was narrow. Starscream’s bags she left just inside the room, not wanting to disturb his quiet curses as he bent over the fireplace, but her own she dragged to the bed. The bed was covered in a dust sheet, and she pulled it off carefully. The bed wasn’t made underneath it, and she said, “Starscream? Sheets?”

 

“In the big suitcase. The ones that are here need to be washed,” he said distractedly, and she left him to it as she unzipped the biggest suitcase. It was full of linens, and she found the bedsheets almost immediately. The second-floor room was so cold, and making the bed provided enough movement that she almost didn’t feel it.

 

She was tucking the top flannel sheet in when she felt movement behind her, and she saw Starscream grab the linens and go into what she guessed was the bathroom. The master suite was dominated by the fireplace and four-poster bed, and there was a small door that led to a closet, she thought, and then the door between the bed and the fireplace, and that was the bathroom. It wasn’t a large room—the bed was a queen, not a king—but the smallness of the room would help keep it warm. If it had been meant as anything but a winter home, she had yet to see it.

 

“There aren’t any tampons in here, are there?”

 

She rolled her eyes at him. “They won’t infect you with my girl cooties, Starscream.”

 

“Still,” he whined.

 

“No, Starscream, there aren’t any tampons. I have an IUD, which means I don’t have periods.” She did have occasional spotting, but she was waiting for the yelp when he discovered her panty liners. “Or did you think I carried a homemade bomb in my vagina?”

 

“That could have made some things awkward,” he called.

 

“Blankets?”

 

“Linen closet in the hallway to the immediate left. Grab _all_ of them.”

 

It was too cold to shower that night, but she had showered that morning anyway. She would need to rebraid her hair, brush her teeth and wash her face, and she had packed warm pajamas. She brought the pile of blankets into the bedroom and tossed them to Starscream. “You finish making the bed, I need to get ready for bed.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

She disappeared into the bathroom and stared at the bath. It looked more like a small pool than a bathtub, and she shook her head at it before sitting down at the vanity. He had left her toiletries bag unpacked, and she went to work.

 

By the time she came back, Starscream was already under the covers and well on his way to falling asleep. She found a book and her book light, and she slid in next to him. The fire was toasty, and the blankets were warming up with Starscream’s body heat.

 

“Sleep good,” she told him, and he mumbled into his pillow before succumbing entirely.

 

She wasn’t near so tired—it was early for her—but the combination of the cold air outside of the blankets and the heavy warmth of the blankets themselves caused her to start yawning a chapter into her book. She managed another two before it was too much, and as she laid down, she hesitated before pressing her body to Starscream’s. He _was_ warm, and cold was no joke.

 

—

 

_6 Days Down_

 

Starscream woke up slowly. He was delightfully warm, and his brain hadn’t woken up enough to make him why he was so delighted about it. He blinked down at his mass of blankets— _so many_ blankets—and he realized that he was not alone in the bed, and that the hand resting on his lower stomach was familiar.

 

As he woke up further, he realized that the pressure against his back was Windblade curled loosely around him, her forehead pressed between in his shoulder blades. He smiled sleepily and traced her knuckles, and then he remembered Cosmos was due to stop by that morning. He made a face and started to slide out from under Windblade. He paused when she made a small noise, and he carefully turned over to smooth her hair away from her forehead, and the slight frown went away. He continued to move, and when she instinctively reached for him, he placed his pillow underneath her reaching arm and she buried her face in his pillow. He tucked the covers more securely around her and then went fumbling for a robe, and it wasn’t until he was shoving his feet into snow boots that he realized he was _warm_ , even though the fire had long past died into embers.

 

Cosmos had come through, and he went rooting for his phone. Sure enough, Cosmos had left an extensive few texts describing what he had done to stabilize the issue and how to fix it in the future. Starscream liked Cosmos, for all his faults, for that reason. Cosmos was in Asheville doing atmospheric research for NOAA, but he was handy and had been friendly with Starscream’s father, and that quiet friendliness had continued after Dad died. Starscream would pay him, as the heat and power was on, and he shot off a quick text of ‘thanks’.

 

He was up and awake, for what that was worth, and he decided to go downstairs and make breakfast. He doubted Windblade would sleep for much longer, but she should get whatever else she could. He switched his boots for slippers and thought about breakfast. He wanted a lot of breakfast, and he knew there were eggs and bacon, and then there was bread, so he put together an idea of French toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon. It would be a heavy breakfast, but for it being so cold and having such a light meal for dinner, it was worth it.

 

His mind wandered back to the girl asleep in his bed, and he fought to keep the smile off his face. God, he lo-missed her, and he desperately wanted to keep her there.

 

He had whisked the eggs and added vanilla extract and cinnamon with milk to it for the French toast and put the bacon in the oven to cook when he heard the stairs creaking, and he looked at the entryway as Windblade appeared, wrapped in a blanket and her braid over her shoulder. She smiled sleepily at him and he returned the smile while she settled on a dining room chair. “What’s for breakfast?” she rasped as she tucked the blanket around her shoulders.

 

“French toast, eggs, and bacon,” he told her, and she hummed.

 

“Sounds good. What are we doing today?”

 

“Do you want to go up to the hill? No skiing today, but it’s a gorgeous day, and it’ll be nice to just walk.”

 

She nodded. “Sure.” She rubbed her eyes. “Sorry, not fully awake yet.”

 

He left the French toast alone to come over and kiss her forehead. She hummed again and said, “That’s nice. What’s that for?”

 

“For being here,” he said. “You’re here.”

 

“I am here,” she agreed, and she sounded a little confused. “Where else would I be?”

 

He couldn’t fight to keep the smile off his face anymore. “I—.”

 

“The French toast is burning,” she said, and he sprinted back across the kitchen.

 

The French toast was saved, and he took the plate holding the French toast and put it in the oven, underneath the bacon pan, and he poked the bacon experimentally. It wasn’t done yet, but was getting there, and he grabbed another pan to make eggs.

 

“I slept good,” she said quietly. “Better than I have been.”

 

“For your mom’s house, or your house?”

 

“Mom’s. The house makes strange noises, and it’s not my home anymore. It hasn’t been for a while, but…” she made a teakettle noise. “I don’t sleep well there.”

 

“Have you considered,” he said, straight-faced, “that where some people are picky eaters, you’re a picky sleeper?”

 

She flashed her grin at him. “The thought has crossed my mind. I slept well last night, however.”

 

“I wonder if it was because of the cold or because you were curled around me. I mean, personally I’m hoping for the latter, but you never know, it could be the former—.”

 

“Hush,” she scolded, her cheeks pink, “and I wasn’t _interrogating_ it, just being grateful that it was.”

 

“So it was my presence,” he teased, putting the eggs onto two plates. “Thanks for confirming it.”

 

Her cheeks deepened to scarlet, and she chose not to answer, which he found interesting, but they had hot food and that was more important. He pulled the bacon from the oven and put it on the same plate with the French toast, and he brought it over to her. “God, you want me to roll away from the table, don’t you?”

 

“I’m happy to push you around,” he assured her, “besides, if we’re going traisping around in the snow, you’re going to want this kind of food.”

 

She nodded. “It looks good. Is there butter?”

 

“Of course there is.”

 

They ate quietly, and he kept wanting to lean over and kiss her. He blamed it entirely on her and the way she kept blushing when they met gazes, but they both avoided touching each other, even under the table. She broke the bacon into bite-sized pieces and ate it with her fingers, and he watched her, transfixed. He wanted to _do things_.

 

At least his sweatpants were loose.

 

“The French toast is good,” she said at last. “What did you mix with it?”

 

“A little bit of vanilla, some cinnamon.”

 

“I like that.”

 

He had moved the perishables into the fridge. The snow had barely melted all night, so the milk was a little frozen but it was going to be fine. “Dishes, and then we can get prepped.”

 

She nodded and draped the blanket over the chair. “I’ll help.”

 

She was warm, standing next to him, and he kept catching the scent of her hair. It was warm and slightly sweet, and he wanted to bury his face in it. That would have been a little creepy, so he refrained, but promised himself: _later_.

 

“I’m—going to need help putting on the suit,” she said.

 

“No worries.” The ski suit was three layers with plenty of velcro, and he was all right with showing her how to put it on. It would give him plenty of opportunity to touch her, which he appreciated greatly. “I can show you where it is.”

 

Once they were done, she touched his arm. “I did do some research on this, and I brought my own bottom layer. Bring up the rest of it?”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

The ski suits had been carefully wrapped in plastic with lavender, and he drew out his and what had been his mother’s. He hadn’t grown since he was sixteen, except leaner, so his should still fit.

 

He re-entered the bedroom just as she was pulling her shirt over her head, and he saw a flash of the scarlet athletic bra before it disappeared under her black shirt. It clung to her everything, and she turned around to look at him. “Well?”

 

“I think we should ditch the walking and take that shirt off.”

 

She pursed her lips as her cheeks darkened. “It’s a beautiful day. I’ve never seen so much snow.”

 

“You’ve already forgotten those snow drifts from February when you decided shoving snow down my back collar was a great idea?”

 

She pointed at him. “Don’t tempt me. I’ve never been in the Blue Ridge Mountains before.”

 

“Here,” he put down the suits on the floor and unzipped the first suit. He shook it out to get the dried lavender out of it, and he started to hand her pieces. The middle layer was easier than the top; it was the top that had all the velcro.

 

She started to pull on the various pieces, and he sighed as her tight clothing was obscured. He loved her breasts. They were so…comfortable, and fit in his hands so well.

 

“Stop thinking dirty thoughts,” she said, turning to face him as she zipped up the light jacket. “I can tell.”

 

“What?” he said, going over to his own bag and finding his clothes. “I’m admiring you.”

 

She propped her hands on her hips. “You’re getting closing and closer to that snow down your collar.”

 

“Perish the thought.” He knelt down to unzip the second bag, and if he happened to kneel down in a way so that his pants highlighted his…assets, well, her blush was answer enough.

 

He slipped into his second layer, and then she handed him her pieces of the third layer. He helped her into it, and it helped him memorize what he would need to pull away. “This is so complicated,” she said with a nervous giggle.

 

“It gets easier, I promise.” He leaned down to kiss her neck, and she trembled slightly. So he wasn’t the only one feeling the tension in the room. “Gimme a sec, and then we can go. Do you have snow boots?”

 

“Yes, actually.” She pursed her lips at him. “I got them while at home.”

 

“Are they red?”

 

“Black. I couldn’t find red ones.”

 

“I don’t know if that’s endearing or ridiculous,” he said as he pulled on the rest of his ski suit. “That you’re so predictable.”

 

She stuck out her tongue at him as she sat down and laced up her snow boots. She watched him as he put on the last pieces so that she would know how to take it off later—she suspected it was a two person job—and then it was his turn to put on snow boots. He found a fleece cap and wrapped it around his head, and he tossed one to her. She made a face and tucked her hair up in it. “I look like a jellyfish.”

 

“It’ll be fine,” he said impatiently.

 

“A jellyfish,” she mourned, catching her reflection in the mirror.

 

“A cute, squishy jellyfish,” he told her, resting his hands on either side of her head and squeezing. “C’mon.”

 

She laced their fingers together as he led her out of the room and down the stairs. The snow was a brilliant white outside the windows, and he stopped at the front door to pat down his jacket. He found two pairs of gloves in his pocket, both sized for him, but he handed her a pair. She wrinkled her nose but slid them on, and then he opened the door.

 

The mountain air was crisp, and she inhaled sharply as he pushed her—gently enough—outside the door so he could lock it. The sky was a perfect blue, and the snow-capped trees glowed with green vitality. She stepped off the porch and sank down a little into the snow; it was powder, and she knelt to pick up a handful of it.

 

“Are you going to kiss it, too?”

 

“Maybe,” she said, turning to Starscream with her hands full of snow. He eyed it warily as she examined it. “It’s so soft. The snow at school isn’t this soft.”

 

“Something about weather conditions and shit.”

 

“Thank you for that precise explaination,” she told him, and she started to pack it into a ball.

 

“No,” he said, “we are _walking_. Not engaging in a snowball fight.”

 

“We should test these suits, make sure they are actually snow proof,” she teased, and he held up a hand as he backed away from her.

 

“No testing needed. We’re _walking_.”

 

“I’d feel a lot more comfortable,” she insisted as she advanced toward him.

 

“Windblade, if you throw that, I swear to fucking god—.”

 

“You’ll do what?” she cocked her head and smiled impishly. He hated himself—well, only a little—for finding that absolutely adorable. “That involves lowering yourself to my level.”

 

“Windblade—.”

 

“Think fast!”

 

He squawked as the compacted snow hit his face and exploded, outlining his eyebrows, eyelashes, and stubble he hadn’t gotten a chance to shave yet. She giggled wildly, already searching for more snow, and he growled at her before lunging in her direction. She shrieked and dodged, and he went down face-first in a snowdrift.

 

Powdered snow, when impacting with one’s face at high speed and velocity, _hurt_.

 

He pushed himself out of the snowdrift and looked for her. The trees around his house were all good climbing trees, he had remembered that from his childhood, and so he looked up.

 

She was perched on one particularly thick limb, a small mound of snowballs next to her. She was faster than he had anticipated, and he scowled at her.

 

In response, she laughed. “You look like the old man you’re going to be one day, beard included,” she called.

 

“You’re going to _get it_.”

 

“Am I?”

 

He jumped for the tree branch—it wasn’t very high, she could reach it with both feet firmly on the ground—and she shrieked and fell backwards. Genuine alarm propelled him to slow her fall, and she breathed in carefully, eyes huge. “Well, my life flashed before my eyes,” she said conversationally. “You?”

 

“I think it’s more along the lines of that I finally have you where I want you.”

 

She tried to wriggle out from under him when he grabbed a handful of snow, but not before he slipped it inside her jacket collar. She writhed and managed to get away from him, but as she scrambled to her feet, she was more concerned about getting the snow out of her collar than immediately retaliating.

 

“Vengeance is sweet,” he informed her.

 

Her cheeks were pink with indignation and the cold, and she frowned at him. “That wasn’t nice, you took advantage.”

 

“And you don’t?”

 

“It’s different when I do it,” she demurred, her eyes twinkling with mischief and good humor.

 

“How?” he propped his hands on his hips. “Please, tell me.”

 

“Well,” she slid over to him. “I have the best of intentions.”

 

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Oh?”

 

She smiled beautifically at him—he tensed—and fell against him. He wasn’t prepared for her weight, and it took the both of them down. He scrambled in the snow, but she rolled on top of him to grind a palmful of snow against his head. At least it wasn’t his face, but still.

 

She paused, still propped on top of him. “Did I go too far?”

 

He looked up at her, and some tendrils of hair were starting to escape her hat. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright, and he focused on her lips, which were a little open. She hadn’t bothered to put on makeup—he couldn’t blame her—but he wanted to see them red and swollen. “No, not too far.”

 

Her chest heaved, and she stared down at him. He took a chance and rested his hands on her hips, and she jumped. “I—um—.”

 

“Do what you want,” he murmured, and she moved to cup his face. He shivered, as her gloves were cold, and then she bent down to kiss him. He let her dictate the pace, and in the span of a heartbeat, it turned from a gentle ‘I remember you’ kiss to something more.

 

She pulled away from him. “I think,” she rasped, “we should go inside.”

 

“Good plan.”

 

She slid off him and pushed herself upright, and she offered him her hand. He took it, but used her hand to pull her close to him, and he lifted her chin. She met his eyes, and he kissed her. She pressed herself close to him, and he wound his arms around her and pulled her closer.

 

“Inside,” she gasped, “ _now_.”

 

They stumbled up the incline to the porch with frequent pauses for kissing, and he fumbled for the house key while she nipped his jaw and neck. “I swear, you are so gonna get it,” he growled at her.

 

“Have you opened the door yet?” she gasped as she reached up to trail her nails down his neck. An electric shock arced down his spine, and he hauled her up against him roughly in response.

 

“Working—on it,” he hissed. The damn key wouldn’t turn.

 

She laughed right against his ear, and the puff of air almost made him decide to fuck her right there on the porch. Finally, the key turned and they burst through the door in a tangle of limbs. He managed to keep them upright, just barely, but scarcely had he closed the door when her hands were at his jacket, fumbling for the catches. All she could do was tug on it, and he pushed her hands away to start on her jacket.

 

He got her jacket off, and she returned to his, but he shook his head and pulled her second jacket over her head. “What about you?” she demanded, and he grinned at her.

 

“I _told_ you you were going to get it.” He lifted her up, and she curled her body around his so that he wouldn’t drop her, and he brought her over to the couch. He dropped her down and knelt between her splayed legs, where he had to fight with the second part of her ski suit, her snow boots and her pants, and finally she was just in a long-sleeved activewear shirt and leggings.

 

He looked up at her, and her eyes were dark. “You’re talking a big game, but where’s the follow through?”

 

“I’ll show _you_ follow-through.” He reached up to drag her leggings down with her underwear, and she lifted her legs so that he could pull them all the way off. She sat upright to pull her shirt off, and he frowned at the scarlet sports bra. “Off with that.”

 

“If you take off your ski suit,” she challenged, pressing her thighs together.

 

He rolled his eyes at her, but that was fair, so he undid the velcro straps and slid off the two pieces and his snow boots. The house was warmer, although he had a fantasy of taking Windblade to the plush carpet in front of the fireplace (while a fire was burning, of course), so keeping all of his layers on would get uncomfortable very quickly.

 

“There, happy?”

 

She gave him a sardonic smile and stripped off her bra. He pushed himself up the couch to kiss her, and she kissed him back with desperation. His hand cupped her breast and tweaked her nipple, and she broke away from his mouth to gasp. “Is this the little amount of pain you like?” he murmured to her, his other hand drifting down to her hip and then to her cunt. She was dripping, and his fingers slid inside easily. She grabbed his arms and arched into his touch, and he crooked his fingers, and she made a teakettle noise.

 

“Y-yes,” she whimpered.

 

He let himself down without removing his fingers, and then, while she was watching him with that helpless look in her blue eyes, he knelt between her legs and started to kiss her thighs. She spread them to make it easier for him, and he rewarded that with the lightest of kisses to her clit.

 

Her hands flexed, and then she hesitantly laid a hand on his head. He looked up at her and nodded, and she wound her fingers through the inch or so of hair he had. He kept crooking his fingers while he licked his way around her clit. When he judged her _absolutely_ desperate, he took his fingers away from her—she whined—and then he pressed his mouth to her cunt.

 

Her hand in his hair tightened and she bucked her hips to his mouth. He let her, and he wasn’t sure if her arousal was from their play—which, if it was, they would be playing a _lot_ more often—or from a combination of sheer sexual tension and their play, but he didn’t think it would be very long at all.

 

That was good. The second round would be longer.

 

“Please,” she begged, “pleaseplease _please_.”

 

He paused to breathe. “I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart,” he said, “just let go.”

 

When he pressed his mouth to her again, she obeyed, and he held her as she thrashed through her orgasm. Finally she quieted, and he moved up again to kiss her. She smiled as he kissed her, and she wound her arms around his neck. “That was nice,” she sighed.

 

“Would you like to do it again?”

 

She kissed his jaw. “Convince me.”

 

“I don’t think that’ll take much work,” he said as he let her rest back down against the couch. She watched him through half-lidded eyes as he stripped down, and once he was done, she pulled him back down.

 

“Give it your best shot,” she said, her legs clasping around his waist.

 

“Sounds like you’re convincing yourself,” he said wryly when his dick slipped against the folds of her cunt. She was still so wet, and it wouldn’t be at all difficult to slip inside her.

 

She heaved against him until he fell on the other side of the couch, and she straddled him. “Maybe—I am.” She reached down, underneath her, and pulled his dick upright and sank onto him. “You played your game, so now I’m playing mine.”

 

He raised his eyebrows. “Go on.”

 

She braced her hands against his chest and started to rise up and down in short movements, and he groaned. “Stop—teasing.”

 

“No, I don’t think I will.” She smirked at him and squeezed her inner walls on the next downward motion, and he reached his hands up to her hips. “Uh-uh,” she warned, grabbing his wrists and pinning them against the arm of the sofa. It wasn’t a strong grip, but when he tested it, her grip tightened. “We’re doing this _my_ way.”

 

“Or what?”

 

“I leave you here,” she said, sweat rolling down her face and sticking her loose locks of hair to her cheeks. “And you have to earn your way back into my good graces.”

 

That could take a while, and he grimaced. “Fine, fine.”

 

“Shame. I was looking forward to seeing you on your knees.”

 

“That’s unusually bold.”

 

“You bring out the worst in me,” she agreed. “Now, I need my hands. Are you going to keep them there?”

 

He eyed her. “I will…consider it.”

 

She sighed a little. “I suppose I can’t expect anything else.” Before he could snark in response, she started to move faster, and his words were lost in a storm of groans. He clutched at the couch as he alternated between watching her face, narrowed in concentration, and her body, particularly in how her breasts bounced against her chest. He wanted to bury his face in them, but he had promised not to touch.

 

Windblade’s breath left her in a rush, and her movements were becoming more erratic. She collapsed onto his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her as she shuddered out another orgasm, and he closed his eyes as his own orgasm roared through him. He muffled his groans against her shoulder, and she laid on top of him as she caught her breath.

 

As their bodies cooled, he realized something he had forgotten. “Shit, Windblade, I forgot about the condom. The pharmacy down the mountain should have Plan B, we can get that for you—.”

 

“Star,” she said as she propped herself up with her hands on the couch. “It’s okay. I have an IUD, it’ll be fine. I got tested when I got my new one, and I’m cleaned, and I know you get tested regularly.”

 

“Yeah, I’m clean. You really—don’t mind?”

 

She made a face at him. “I don’t much care for the mess, because it all gets really sticky, but that’s all I mind.” She resettled on top of him. “Wanna go upstairs and get clean and maybe fool around in that giant bathtub?”

 

“Oh, _god_ yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, things _finally_ come to fruition, there are some SNAFUs, everyone remembers it's the new year, and Chromia feels accomplished.
> 
> I wasn't actually going to include the 'dafuq is water sports' conversation because that's not where the conversation went to, initially, but then I got so many comments that I needed to include it, so enjoy.
> 
> Please feed the author.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long one! This should wrap up most of the storylines I've introduced; the epilogue will cover the rest. 
> 
> FOR YOUR OWN REFERENCE: skiing is hard. The only skiing I've ever done was water skiing, which was exhilarating but had the unfortunate tendency to end with you getting water in your ears, but when I was doing research for snow skiing, WELL. 
> 
> Trigger warning for discussion of past child abuse and racism.
> 
> This chapter covers the last week of December all the way up to New Year's.

**CHAPTER NINE: THE TRUTH MUST DAZZLE GRADUALLY**

 

_5 Days Down_

 

Starscream woke up suddenly. He looked over in the bed next to him, and panic rose up in him when he saw he was alone. “Windblade?” he called, and there was no answer. She wasn’t in the bathroom.

 

Outside, the sky was starting to turn grey, and it was probably going to start snowing by mid-afternoon. He didn’t think it was a storm, but it did mean they weren’t going anywhere.

 

He pulled on a robe and slippers and called again, “Windblade?”

 

“Downstairs,” she called back, and his panic died down.

 

“Why are you downstairs instead of our warm bed?” he demanded as he stepped quickly down the stairs.

 

She was curled up in a blanket on the couch with a steaming pot of tea and a cup on the coffee table, and a book was open on her lap. “I got up and was hungry, but you were still out so I left you alone.” As he approached her, she reached out to play with his pajama waistband. “You got quite the workout yesterday.”

 

“Yeah, so did you.” He made a face at her. “What did you make for breakfast?”

 

“Oatmeal, there’s still some on the stove. I _love_ that you have a double boiler.”

 

“I’m so happy to have pleased you,” he grumped as he went into the kitchen and found a bowl. The oatmeal smelled like cinnamon, and he added some brown sugar before wandering back into the living room. “Up,” he ordered, and she lifted her feet so that he could sit down.

 

“Tea?”

 

“No, keep your leaf juice.” The first bite of oatmeal told him how hungry he actually was, and he focused on emptying the bowl while she continued to read. “I didn’t like that you weren’t there when I woke up,” he admitted after he was done.

 

“I don’t sleep very well with another person in the bed,” she said absently. “Last night was…an aberration, probably because we did get such a workout. I’ll get better at it, it’s just that my previous serious relationships in high school were, well, high school, so there was never really any sleeping over.”

 

“Sometimes I feel almost sad that you didn’t have any serious relationships in college until me,” he informed her.

 

She rolled her eyes. “That might’ve given you some competition.”

 

“You were all the competition I could handle.”

 

She shoved at him with her foot. “Hush.”

 

“No, no, it’s good.” He grabbed her foot and sqeezed. “I like that kind of competition.”

 

Her cheeks warmed at the look he was giving her. “I’m glad to have stretched out your capabilities,” she said, closing her book. “So what’s on the agenda for today?”

 

He looked out the window. “It’s going to snow, so probably inside. I’ll get a fire going, and you can continue reading that—whatever.”

 

She cocked her head. “Would you like me to read to you?”

 

“I don’t need to be read to sleep,” he yawned. “We could do some more workouts.”

 

She patted his arm. “Sounds nice, but I’m sore. I’ll need a day or so to recover.”

 

He grinned. “I wore you out.”

 

“Indeed.” She re-opened her book. “I’m sure you can find a way to entertain yourself. I’ll call Chromia and Nautica in a bit, just so that they know we’re okay, and you should probably call Megatron.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you’re his son, you ninny, and he’ll be worried about you.”

 

“I preferred ‘dear heart’,” he complained.

 

“Earn it,” she sang.

 

“I’ll be back,” he grumbled.

 

“Bye, dear.”

 

He made grumbling noises at her as he went upstairs and hunted for his phone. Maybe she had a point.

 

—

 

Megatron paced.

 

“You’re going to wear a path in your very expensive floors,” Optimus said from his chair. His reading glasses were perched on the edge of his nose and he was reading his usual _American Journal of International Law_. Megatron glared at him.

 

“How the hell are you so calm? Your student is with my son, probably being impregnated!”

 

“Then we will wish them all the joy,” Optimus was droll as he turned the page.

 

“Optimus!”

 

“For all your jibes,” Optimus closed his journal and looked at Megatron over the rims of his glasses, “Windblade is someone I care deeply for, but she is not my daughter, so thus I am not scandalized at the knowledge that she is hidden away in a mountain retreat with her boyfriend, probably having marathon sex. I _also_ trust that she and Starscream are being safe, because you taught Starscream not to misuse his dick and Windblade is a generally responsible person who has no desire whatsoever to be pregnant. You should give her and them that much.”

 

Megatron growled at him. “It’s not about trust, it’s—.”

 

“Are you really afraid that she could supplant you?” Optimus opened his journal again briskly, the sound of flapping pages filling the small space. “You, who have raised him?”

 

“When you put it that way,” Megatron shook his head.

 

“You’re being silly,” Optimus agreed.

 

The phone rang, and Megatron lunged for it. “Hello?”

 

Starscream’s voice was edged with static. “Hey, haven’t called because we’ve been…busy.” _Having marathon sex_ , Megatron translated. “It’s gonna snow here today, so I thought I’d call you to let you know we’re alive before the power inevitably goes out.”

 

“How’s the cold?”

 

“Shudderingly so, but we’re managing. Cosmos got us all set up with firewood, he’s getting a very nice paycheck.”

 

“Good.” Megatron angled for the next topic of conversation that wouldn’t offend Starscream’s sensitive temper. “And the drive?”

 

“Uneventful. We haven’t done very much, mostly unpacking—well, Windblade’s reading. Some stupid book I’ve never heard of.”

 

“Just because you haven’t heard of it doesn’t mean it’s stupid,” Windblade called.

 

“Windblade, say hi to Megatron.”

 

“Hi, Megatron.” Windblade’s tone sounded familiar, and Megatron winced when he realized it was the same tone Optimus had been using on him only a few minutes prior, only instead of Optimus indulging him, Windblade was indulging Starscream.

 

Oh _god_. He had made Starscream _want_ the type of relationship he had with Optimus. He would never have imagined that _that_ was what Starscream wanted, but it made an odd kind of sense. For all their faults, Megatron and Optimus suited each other. Their fights could be vicious, but…the process of forgiveness was sweeter.

 

He just wished Starscream’s chosen partner was easier for him to manipulate. Starscream could be _dense_.

 

“Hello, Windblade,” he parroted.

 

The static was more pronounced. “So what are you and Optimus doing for New Years?”

 

“Enjoying the house without your presence.”

 

He could hear Starscream’s wince. “Never mind. I’m going to read now.”

 

“Reading? You know how to read?”

 

“Ha-ha, very funny. Bye, Megatron.”

 

“Bye, Starscream.”

 

Megatron put the phone back on the cradle and looked to Optimus. “You were right,” he said sullenly, “he’s fine.”

 

“Told you so.”

 

—

 

Nautica made a face at the windows. “It’s snowing, how _gross_.”

 

“I called work,” Chromia announced. “It’s snowing too much for me to go in.”

 

“I get you to myself? Statement amended! Snow is great.”

 

“Only when there’s a barrier between you and it, right?”

 

Nautica snuggled up to Chromia. “I don’t like to be cold.”

 

“Does anyone?” Chromia inquired. “Hang on, keep my spot warm.” She started to slide out of bed, and Nautica whined.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“I’ll be right back,” Chromia laughed, “hold your horses.”

 

Nautica stuck her lip out in a pout. “I have no horses to hold. I just have a girlfriend, whom I love, who has ruthlessly abandoned me.”

 

“I’m back, I’m back.” Chromia got back into bed, and Nautica immediately attached herself to Chromia again.

 

“It was so cold without you,” Nautica warbled, and Chromia patted her head.

 

“But I’m here now. Hey, I’ve got a question for you.”

 

“I tremble in fear.”

 

“Not that kind of question.” Out from under the covers, Chromia brought out a box, and Nautica’s breath quickened. That was very clearly a ring box. “I’ve really been struggling on how to ask, because I wanted it to be special and just us, but there was never a good moment, and then I finally realized that…I don’t need to make it special. You being here with me is special enough, so,” Chromia popped open the box, and Nautica’s eyes widened at the amethyst ring nestled in black velvet. “Will you marry me?”

 

Nautica reached for the box and Chromia let her take it. The amethyst wasn’t a huge chunk of gemstone, but it was a round stone set in gold, and Nautica lifted it up. “Will it fit me?”

 

“I borrowed one of your other rings to make sure the fit would be right.” Chromia kissed Nautica’s temple. “Is that a yes?”

 

“I don’t know,” Nautica looked up at Chromia with a pout. “Do you have a chicken for my table?”

 

Chromia groaned and shoved her. “You are _never_ going to let me live it down that you caught me watching _Princess Diaries 2_ , are you.”

 

Nautica pushed herself upright and wiggled the ring at Chromia. “Not for the rest of our lives, and yes, that _is_ a yes. Are you going to put it on me?”

 

Chromia rarely grinned, but a full smile bloomed on her face and deepened her blue eyes. “Of course.” She reached out for the ring and Nautica’s left hand, and Nautica held very still as Chromia slid the perfectly-sized ring onto Nautica’s fourth finger. The amethyst caught the light, and Nautica stared at the sparkle. Her fingers were short but thin, and the small round stone and minimalist setting made her fingers look so much longer.

 

“Oh Chromia, it’s beautiful.” She looked up at Chromia. “How long have you been trying to propose?”

 

Chromia made a face. “About four weeks, but it was never _right_.” She stroked Nautica’s hair, and Nautica leaned into the touch with her eyes closed. “But where we’re at our best is when it’s us. We’re good with other people, but we’re at our best with each other.”

 

“I’m glad you chose to propose this way,” Nautica murmured, “it was good.” She kissed Chromia’s cheek. “It was private and perfect.”

 

“I’m glad you feel that way, I was really worried,” Chromia giggled with the aftereffects of nervous tension.

 

“Well,” Nautica drawled, “you know what time it is.”

 

Chromia gazed at her fondly. Nautica was not suble at all. “To conserve warmth?”

 

Nautica smirked. “In the best way possible.”

 

—

 

_4 Days Down_

 

Starscream made a face at the snow. According to the radio’s weather report, it was due to finally stop that night, and then the slopes would be perfect tomorrow. He was restless, and wanted to get _out_ of the house.

 

He finished pouring the scotch into two glasses, and he grabbed them after putting the decanter back up. Windblade was curled up on the couch, her eyes lidded in the firelight, and she stirred when he came over. He gave her a glass and sat down next to her, and she spread the afghan over his lap and leaned against him.

 

“You’re twitchy,” she commented.

 

“I’m not very good being stuck somewhere without Internet access,” he grumbled. “I know you’ve been working through that pile of books, but I don’t like to read like that.”

 

“I could read to you,” she offered.

 

“I don’t want to sleep right now.” He swirled his scotch moodily, and she shrugged.

 

“Fine.” She sipped her scotch. “Ooh, this is good. You want to play a game?”

 

“What kind of game? Does it involve nakedness?”

 

“And you prove that you’re singleminded. No, this is the ‘How Worse is My Backstory Compared to Yours’ game. We share things from our history until one of us proves we have the worse.”

 

He grimaced. “Mine’s worse, trust me,” he sipped his scotch and managed not to drain it. It was too good to gulp down.

 

“Okay,” she said lightly, “but you haven’t shared very much.”

 

He considered it, and then decided to fuck it. “My father taught me the basics of the scientific method when I was a kid, and I tried to uphold it whenever I was curious about something, and I was curious about _everything_. The house in Virginia has really sprawling grounds, and there’s some woods toward the south of the property. My dad was in Houston with NASA when I was 10, 11, and my mom was trying to work from home as much as possible so she could ‘be there for me.’”

 

Windblade raised a brow at the scare quotes. “I take it you weren’t super thrilled about that.”

 

“I explored all afternoon after school, and she left me alone,” he dismissed. “She would come find me when it was time for dinner, but I typically lost track of time until she hauled me back to the house.”

 

“I think I can see where this is going,” Windblade said quietly. Her stomach was knotting, because children did _not_ have the same morals that adults did, and there were a lot of things that children could get into that adults would not be pleased about.

 

Starscream drained the rest of his scotch. “I was out one day, and a squirrel just dropped out a tree dead. I have no idea what killed it— _I_ didn’t do it—but it just dropped dead in front of me. Me, being a kid, didn’t fully understand what happened, and Mom was calling me in, so I went inside and didn’t think more about it. Then when I went out there the second day, I found maggots there. It grossed me out, but I was also weirdly fascinated, so I started going out there daily and taking notes about what that decay looked like. I’d read about it, I watched the forensic shows when Mom wasn’t around, but now I was seeing it for myself, and I was absolutely fascinated.”

 

“And then something went wrong?”

 

“I wanted to get a better look at how the belly and chest cavity would split open and break down, so I very carefully tied the front legs to some tree roots, and I was on my third day of observation after that and…Mom came to find me. It was rare for me to go to the same place every day for a few weeks, and she wanted to know what I was up to, and she found that.” He shifted on the couch, and she settled against him.

 

He wasn’t one to ask for comfort, but he was grateful that she offered it.

 

“She saw my notebook, the squirrel, and jumped to the worst conclusion. She pulled me inside—literally hauled me inside—and she sent me to my room, but I snuck out to hear her calling someone. I think she had been thinking about it for a whie, because she was on the phone with someone and talked like the decision had already been made, and I—I was scared. I didn’t know what I had done wrong, because I’d only done what Dad had taught me, but Dad was in Houston for NASA and Megatron was in South Carolina and I was alone.”

 

She reached out and took his hand.

 

“Mom got off the phone around 9 and went to bed, so I snuck out of my room and went to the phone and called Megatron. He was still awake, and I basically said that Mom was sending me away because of something that I don’t know what I did wrong, and he was there the next morning. He and my mom had a shouting match—it was the first time I’d heard him bellow—and after they finally quieted, Megatron came to find me. I told him the whole story, and he said that he couldn’t stop Mom from sending me away, and that what she was doing was wrong and that it was important that I know that. He called Dad—she hadn’t even thought to call _Dad_ —and Dad might be able to stop her, but…”

 

“You hadn’t thought about calling your father,” she said softly, “you called Megatron first.”

 

“Megatron never liked the fact that Dad married a white woman, but not only that, a white woman who was _so_ oblivious to racial issues. I think that’s part of why Dad married her—he got tired of the race consciousness, and he chose a relationship where it would never be a conversation.”

 

She pursed her lips, and he rolled his eyes in agreement. “Yeah, I know. Megatron fought for me, and he was the one who gave me the conversation of how to react when the police are doing things and other stuff, so I knew I could count on him.” She nodded, and he continued, “But even Dad couldn’t change her mind. It wasn’t ‘normal’ for a child to watch an animal decay, even if that child hadn’t killed it, and she never believed I hadn’t. So I got sent off to a private boarding school, and Megatron visited me monthly and sent me letters and care packages and…he was the reason I survived. I knew within a week that I was not in the right place, but…”

 

She squeezed his hand again. “That’s terrible. Okay, you win.”

 

“What do I get?” he leered.

 

“You just told me one of the most upsetting stories of child abuse and neglect I’ve literally ever heard, and you want to hit on me?”

 

“Isn’t neglect child abuse?”

 

“Yeah, but it’s a different shade of it.”

 

“50 shades of abuse, how is this my life,” he sighed.

 

She shrugged. “You know, for someone with that backstory—and it does explain a lot—you’re actually a pretty reasonable person.”

 

“Oh thanks.” He made a face at her.

 

“Trauma leaves lasting ramifications. I’d kinda wondered why you and Megatron stuck together in the way that you do, but that does explain a lot. Plus—you don’t approach race in the way that, like, I do. You don’t talk about it a lot.”

 

“You talk more about your culture than your race,” he grumbled, “as if that’s an accurate yardstick.” He sighed again. “I’ve had a few moments where it got tense between me and police, but it never went further than that. I’ve had teachers who’ve told me I was articulate, and one of my therapists flagged my justified anger over my treatment as a warning sign. She was later replaced by a black lady, and I finally started to get ‘better.’ But like—my education from 12 or so on was in really white, privileged environments, and while I was getting an education in race consciousness from Megatron, there were a whole lot of other things I was dealing with.”

 

“I never figured out to any satisfaction about why my grandparents ended up in Georgia,” she said after a moment. “Mom didn’t know or refuses to tell me. Maybe both. I do know that there’s a strong history of Chinese immigrants in the South, but there is just not the same history for Japanese immigrants. So I don’t know. I can’t trace the records, because when they came to Caminus, they Americanized their name, so there’s nothing to trace. And while I know there is no value in Oppression Olympics, but sometimes it was really hard to be visibly Asian in rural Georgia.”

 

“And then your mom…,” he said, angling for the story in full.

 

“My mother’s entire life was around the Church of Solus. She grew up at the knee of the previous two Mistress of Flames’, and they were her, I don’t know, beloved aunts. They sponsored her for seminary, and it was always understood that she would be part of the church hierarchy. Church life is strict in behavioral expectations, and her parents were also pretty reserved.”

 

“So you come by it honestly.”

 

“Compared to my mother, I am positively loose. I learned how to read in the church library, and the seminary students were my first babysitters. I loved—love—the church, it really does give my life meaning, but I was around 12 when I realized that how I love it is not how my mother loves it. Her love defines her life; mine enriches my life. Once I figured that out, I didn’t want to have my mother define what my life would look like, and she…I think she sensed it, and she pushed me more in church activities.”

 

“You know, most people would be repulsed from the church by that,” he commented.

 

“I—it’s complicated. It got really bad when I got to high school, or maybe it finally got bad enough for me to pick up on it, but all of a sudden I was out of the community for high school and surrounded by people who didn’t respect my history and my religion, and it was terrifying. Mother didn’t understand why I was so terrified, and when I sought guidance, she couldn’t give me the support I needed because she thought I would be back in the fold once I graduated, and no matter what I did or said—.”

 

“She didn’t believe you.” He wrapped an arm around her, and she leaned into him.

 

“It came to a head when I was looking at colleges, and she just got angrier and angrier. She would order me to do chores, and I would do them, but my hands would be so sore and chapped and my allergies would…,” she cut herself off and rephrased the next part of her statement. “Stress weakened my immune system badly enough that I ended up in the hospital my junior year with pneumonia, and I almost died. My mother became more controlling after that, because my doctor had been very clear that my stress was the cause, and she felt that I wasn’t capable of keeping myself safe. Then me and Nautica arranged a college visit here and snuck out, and we got caught and…it got very bad.”

 

“Define ‘very bad.’”

 

She breathed carefully. “She declared me legally emancipated and made my life a controlled hell for all of my senior year. Then my acceptance letter and financial aid letter came through, and it was like she realized she was going to lose me, and she tried to repair the relationship, but the damage was done.”

 

“And yet you want to forgive her?”

 

“I’m not going to move forward emotionally until I can find it in me to do so,” she said flatly. “We don’t forgive for other people; we forgive for our own peace of mind. She knows she did wrong, and she’s been attempting to atone for years. We’ll have a conversation about it at some point, and I hope she—gets it. I’m her daughter, not a priest to be placed where I can do the most good for the church, and she hasn’t been my mother for a very long time.” She ran her hands through her hair in consternation. “She’s just been…the Mistress of Flame.”

 

“That shouldn’t have happened to you,” he told her. “You didn’t deserve it.”

 

“Same to you.”

 

He got up to grab the brandy decanter. “So we’re both screwed up thanks to our mothers, saved by other mentors, if I remember something about Pyra correctly.”

 

She held up her glass for a refill. “You would be correct.”

 

He put the decanter on the coffee table and sat down next to her. “So where was your dad?”

 

“Who the hell knows. I don’t even know who he was. Suspect he was white, though. Judging by my,” she waved in the general direction of her upper face. “The number of times I was called ‘exotic’ just. I wish I had my mother’s eyes.”

 

“I think you’re beautiful,” he said.

 

“Maybe so, but part of that is because how vivid my eyes are in comparison to ‘standard’ Asian features, right?”

 

He fumbled for words, and she shook her head. “I’m not judging. You’re not the first.”

 

He held up his glass to her. “So here’s to us, both kids screwed over who managed to make good in ways our parents would never understand.”

 

She clinked her glass against his. “I can drink to that.”

 

He searched her face, the words dying to burst from his lips, but it wasn’t the right time. He could tell in how her mouth was set and the way her eyes glittered. “Read to me?”

 

She glanced at him. “Thought you didn’t want to sleep.”

 

“I don’t have to sleep.” He stretched. “I just want to lay on your chest while you read.”

 

“You just want to get up close and personal with my breasts,” she accused.

 

“Well,” he smirked, “it’s a perk.”

 

“You’re an ass.” There was a beat, and then Windblade shook her head. “Fine.”

 

“Thank you, my dear.”

 

“Is that your nickname for me? ‘My dear?’”

 

“Consider it a derivative of your ‘dear heart.’ Wouldn’t it be cute for us to echo each other?”

 

“That’s one way of looking at it,” she muttered, and she laid back on the couch. “All right, come on.”

 

He scrambled to obey.

 

—

 

_3 Days Down_

 

“Do I look ridiculous?” she asked anxiously as she wiggled her feet in the skiis. “Nautica thought I would look a little ridiculous.”

 

“You don’t look ridiculous,” he rolled his eyes, “but I did promise I would take pictures, so—think fast!” Windblade blinked as his phone flashed twice at her, and she stuck out her bottom lip.

 

“We’ve got to have something to commemorate this moment,” he protested with a smirk. “You’re not outdoorsy! It’s cute.”

 

“You’re also not hugely outdoorsy.”

 

“Just because I don’t hike doesn’t mean I don’t spend time outdoors.” He helped fit her snow goggles onto her face, and he patted her cheek. “You’ve complained about it enough.”

 

She pouted at him. “Okay, so how do I do this?”

 

“You mastered walking in skiis—.”

 

“For a given value of _walking_.”

 

He scowled at her interruption, and she tilted her head in a silent apology, and he continued. “Okay, so the direction of your skiis determines how you move. The wider the V between the front of your skiis the more you can keep from sliding backwards.”

 

“Is that a genuine concern?” she asked nervously.

 

“It’s helpful to know,” he assured her. “If you want to stop, put the fronts—the tips—of your skiis together. When you assume the position,” he demonstrated for her, his knees bent and leaning forward slightly, “if you start to panic, which is totally normal, put the tips of your skiis together.”

 

She copied his posture and breathed out carefully. “Next?”

 

He showed her how to turn and how to fall, and then she eased up to the start of the bunny slope. “I’m right behind you,” he said, “I’ve got you.”

 

She went down very carefully, and there was a slight turn before the end of the slope. She felt exhilaration at the turn, and after she came to a careful stop, she turned to Starscream with a beam. “That was great!”

 

He slid to a stop next to her and wrapped an arm awkwardly around her shoulders. “See why I love this?”

 

She nodded excitedly. “More please!”

 

He took her to one of the more safer slopes, and that time he led. She was still wary—she had heard some horror stories when she had Googled skiing—but the more slopes they went down, the more confident she felt.

 

She was starting to feel uncomfortably sticky when someone whizzed by her, and she panicked. She tried to stop with the turn, but she was already on the turn and she fell forward. Her helmet chinked against the packed snow, and the impact threw her goggles off-center.

 

Her head rang, and she lay in the snow in a daze while she tried to catch her breath. It was scary, to be upright one moment and then not the next, and she heard the rasp of Starscream’s skiis coming to a stop near her. She curled away from the sound instinctively, and his hand grabbed her shoulder. “You okay?”

 

“M’fine,” she struggled upright, and he stabilized her as she got to her feet. There was a flare of unexpected pain in her ankle and she winced. “Maybe not fine. I think I turned an ankle.”

 

“Yeah, that happens.” He readjusted her goggles professionally. “Though let me tell you, if I figure out who did that, I am going to politely remind them of the rules of the slopes—.”

 

“You don’t do anything politely.”

 

“And then, quite cordially, punch them in the face.” His grip around her was awkward thanks to skiis and poles. “Do you think you can finish?”

 

She tested out moving forward, and the flare spiked all the way up to her shin. “No, I can’t.”

 

He wavered for a moment, and then he said, “I’m going to maneuver you so that you’re not on the trail directly, and then I’m going to go get help. They’ve got snowmobiles, they’ll be able to take you on down. You going to be okay if I leave you?”

 

“It’s not the first time I’ve sprained an ankle, Starscream. Just help me get somewhere I can sit down and then I’ll be fine.”

 

He nodded. “Okay. Here we go.”

 

She waved him off once she got settled, and she admitted to a slight pang as he zoomed off, but she knew he would be back. She eased her feet out of her skiis, and she was grateful for how stiff the snow boots were; otherwise, it could have been a _lot_ worse.

 

She heard the snowmobile before she saw it, and Starscream jumped from the back. “You okay?”

 

She used the pole to push herself up. “Yeah, I told you, not my first time in this race. Hi, I’m Windblade.” She offered her free hand to the paramedic, and she beamed.

 

“Betty, hi. So what happened?”

 

“Someone startled me on the trail, I fell over and then I realized I had sprained my ankle.”

 

“She hit her head, too,” Starscream added.

 

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m wearing a _helmet_.”

 

“Doesn’t always mean you’re okay, can you take off the helmet for me? There we go. Okay, it looks like you bruised your cheek, probably between the fall, your goggles, and the helmet, but the swelling should go down once you ice it. On a level of 1 to 10, 10 being the worst, how bad is your ankle pain?” Betty carefully placed the helmet back on Windblade’s head, and Windblade clasped it under her chin.

 

“It hurts when I put my weight on it,” Windblade answered her. “But the boot’s so stiff that I’m not sure how bad it is yet.”

 

“Yeah, that’s also normal. We’ll take you down the lodge and get you checked out.” Betty wrapped an arm around Windblade’s upper back. “Spread your weight between me and the pole, all right?”

 

Starscream bent down to retrieve the skiis. “I can ski down,” he informed them.

 

“Probably for the best,” Betty said. “Three people might jostle her ankle too much.” She put Windblade down on the seat, and then helped her get her other leg up and over the side. “Meet you down there.”

 

Windblade handed Starscream the second pole, and then Betty got the snowmobile going. “Hold onto my waist, okay?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

Windblade had never ridden a snowmobile before, and she wished it was under better circumstances. The air stung a little as it whooshed against her face, but she found it mostly enjoyable. They got back to the lodge, and there was a paramedic waiting for them with a gurney.

 

“A gurney? Really?” Windblade asked with a touch of despondency. “It’s a turned ankle.”

 

“There’s no way you can walk to the clinic,” Betty said with good humor. “It’s standard operating procedure. Enjoy the ride!”

 

“He’s never going to let me leave this down,” Windblade confided as Betty got her up onto the gurney. “He’s going to tease me forever and ever amen.”

 

“You didn’t see him when he got here,” Betty said as they strapped her in. “I thought you were in labor, the way he was yelling for a medic. Thanks for not being in labor, by the way. I may or may not have made sarcastic comments about a pregnant woman skiing.”

 

“Not pregnant.”

 

“Good. So are there any medications you’re allergic to?”

 

“No pain meds, but I do have chronic anemia and an IUD.” Windblade tried to remember anything else that might have an impact on her care. “I’m also allergic to all nuts, bee stings, and—.”

 

“No worries,” Betty interrupted. “You don’t need a transfusion, and the painkillers we’ll give you will be like, Aleve. You’ll be fine.”

 

“Good,” Windblade exhaled. “I was trying to keep it together for him because he gets all panicky, but I was a little worried.”

 

“It’s normal to be worried,” the other paramedic assured her. “How long have you two been married?”

 

Windblade glanced down at her hands in surprise. “We’re—not, actually. We’re here for a ski vacation our last year of college.”

 

Betty and the paramedic exchanged looks. “Sorry, assumed you were a little older,” the paramedic said. “How long have you two been together?”

 

Windblade flinched away from Betty taking off her boot. “Sorry, sorry. Um—well, we’ve technically been together since April, but we had been friends for a while before that, and we took a break for a few weeks when the fall semester started.”

 

“Stress got to you,” Betty said knowingly.

 

“Um—something like that.” Windblade brightened when Starscream came in. “Come in, hold my hand while they probe my ankle.”

 

“Your wish is my command,” he said dryly as he unzipped his jacket and came over. “Will you scream?”

 

“May— _ow!_ ”

 

“Sounds like you got your confirmation,” Betty joked. “Okay, so it’s definitely a sprain, but let’s get an X-ray just to know what we’re looking at. You might have torn a ligament or something that requires more care than wrapping it and send you on your way.”

 

“Okay,” Windblade sighed. “Let’s get more of the sharp, throbbing pains. Starscream, did you know they thought I was in labor because you were screaming about me?”

 

“I thought we agreed pregnancy was something we don’t want,” he complained. “I’d make a horrible father.”

 

“And there’s no way I’d ever let my mother near any children that belonged to me,” she said as they got her into a wheelchair. “Come with me?”

 

“Like I’d leave you alone again.”

 

“Thanks, dear heart.” She tucked her cheek against the top of his hand. “I’m trying to distract myself from the pain.”

 

“If I find the guy who did this, trust me, he’s getting punched,” he said vehemently. “That was—rude!”

 

“That’s the strongest word you can come up?” she said, amused. “Rude?”

 

“Well, we’re surrounded by other people,” he glanced at the paramedics, who weren’t even trying to hide their smiles. “I thought I should censor myself.”

 

“No need,” Betty said. “We’ve heard worse.”

 

“You can’t come in here,” the other paramedic said apologetically. “Radiation, and everything.”

 

Starscream knelt in front of her. “I’m just outside. You’ll be okay.”

 

She nodded. “I’ll be okay.”

 

He stepped aside and let them take her inside, and she suffered a highly uncomfortable ten minutes as they rearranged her. “I’m sorry,” Betty kept saying, but Windblade just shook her head and bit her lip.

 

When they came back out, Starscream held out her phone. “Nautica’s on the phone and she has something to tell you.”

 

Windblade furrowed her brows but took the phone. “Nautica? I’m here, what’s up?”

 

“We have been trying to call you for _days_ ,” Nautica giggled. “You finally got in range!”

 

“Uh, yeah. What happened?”

 

“We’re engaged,” Chromia called. “You were the first we wanted to tell, but then we couldn’t get you on the phone, so we ended up telling my mother first, sorry.”

 

“No, no, it’s okay, your mom is important.” Windblade felt a little dizzy. “Congratulations!”

 

“I wanted to tell her,” Nautica complained. “How dare.”

 

There was a sound that sounded like a kiss, and Windblade grimaced. “I finally managed to ask,” Chromia laughed. “Finally! It took some doing.”

 

“I’m really happy for you two, but I’m going to put Starscream back on, because I need to talk to my doctors.”

 

“Starscream—.”

 

“ _Doctors_?!”

 

Windblade handed off the phone and tried to smile at the person in the lab coat who had come in. “So the prognosis?”

 

“It’s a sprain,” the doctor said. “We’ll wrap it, write a prescription for the good stuff, and then you can go home. How’s that sound?”

 

“Wonderful,” Windblade replied. Starscream had a slightly hunted look on his face as he explained to the indignant women on the other end why his girlfriend and their best friend had ended up at the doctor’s on their private vacation.

 

“He’d better get used to that,” Windblade said in an undertone to Betty. “If we’re going to survive.”

 

Betty laughed. “You should have seen my wife’s first time of meeting my best friends. It was like watching cats circle each other. Does he know them?”

 

“Well enough,” Windblade admitted, “but the last time I was at the doctor’s, it was because he hadn’t checked my allergies and well.”

 

Betty nodded. “Friends get very upset about that.”

 

“They do.”

 

Windblade clutched the side of the bed as the wrapping tightened. “Sorry, I’m sorry, it just—.”

 

“You haven’t kicked me in the face,” Betty said, “so you’re doing pretty well. Oh look, it’s the boyfriend.”

 

“Nautica wants to know you’re okay,” he said, shoving the phone in her direction. Windblade fumbled for the phone and finally grabbed it, and Starscream stomped to the corner of the room and slid into one of the ruthlessly uncomfortable chairs.

 

“Nautica?”

 

“You’re okay, right? I mean, Chromia said that you knew about it, but this isn’t going to be weird that we’re engaged or anything?”

 

“Calm the anxiety down, girl,” Windblade told her. “I’m a little short because I have a bad sprain and I’m getting it wraapped, _ow_ , it’s not because of you, I swear. I asked Chromia when she was going to make an honest woman of you. I’m _happy_ for the two of you. We all moved in together _after_ you two were together. If it was going to be weird, it would have been weird then, not now.”

 

“Good,” Nautica exhaled. “Have you said the thing yet?”

 

“Said the—no, not yet.” Windblade eyed Starscream, who was examining his snow boots with disdain. “Opportunity hasn’t come up.”

 

“You should,” Nautica said seriously. “Then maybe we can be engaged buddies!”

 

Windblade choked.

 

“That was for Chromia, she said you surprised her and that it was only fair,” Nautica giggled. “You’re really happy?”

 

“I’m really happy. Go have happy sex, you two deserve it.”

 

“Okay! Love you.”

 

“Love you too.” Windblade shook her head as she ended the call. “Nautica can be very silly.”

 

“I’m glad you recognize that,” Starscream was dry. “She tore me a new one for letting you get injured.”

 

“Nautica’s version of tearing you a new one is to be really disappointed at you.”

 

“Yeah, I actually felt kind of bad. Even though it wasn’t my fault.”

 

“No, it wasn’t,” Windblade agreed.

 

Betty patted her knee. “Hold tight, I’m gonna get you some crutches.”

 

“Ew, crutches,” Windblade pulled a face.

 

“Better than nothing,” Betty said cheerfully. “Be back.”

 

“I hate crutches,” Windblade grumbled.

 

Starscream came over, and though he was definitely still pouting, the hand he wrapped around the back of her neck was gentle, and she leaned against him. “This really isn’t your fault, you know.”

 

“I know, I’m just—do you want to go home?”

 

She peered at him. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, you sprained your ankle, do you want to go home?”

 

She blinked at him. “What? No. This whole thing aside, I’m having a good time. Do you want to go home?”

 

“No, not at all. You’re sure?”

 

She nodded. “I’m sure. I’m gonna need help to get inside, though.”

 

“Done. I’ll carry you over the threshold.”

 

“Try not to enjoy it too much,” she said sourly.

 

“Prime groping opportunity,” he teased.

 

“God, please do not put those words together in that order. Whenever I hear ‘Prime’, I always think of Optimus now.”

 

It was his turn to grimace. “I see what you mean.”

 

“Here we are!” Betty announced as she walked in with a pair of crutches. “I specifically grabbed the comfy ones.”

 

“Thanks for thinking of me,” Windblade said with a false smile. “All right, here we go.”

 

Getting out of the clinic and to the car was an exercise in agony, but Windblade gritted her teeth and bore it. Starscream was hovering, and the last thing she needed was for him to worry about her anymore. “Thanks, Betty,” she said. “You made an unpleasant experience less unpleasant.”

 

“That’s what I want,” Betty said. Her phone dinged, and she said, “Whoops! Someone broke their leg, I gotta go. Have a good day!”

 

“Have fun,” Windblade said.

 

Betty waved and ran off, and Windblade looked across the car at Starscream. “Please take me home.”

 

“Done and done.”

 

\--

 

_2 Days Down_

 

“All right, the ice is off and in an hour, you’re getting a heating pad.”

 

“My favorite part of the day,” Windblade sighed, stretching out her leg. “I hate the ice. How soon until I can take my painkillers?”

 

“Not for another two hours.”

 

“Awww,” she complained. She frowned at him. “You’re loving this.”

 

“You’re so cute,” he enthused. “You’re grumpy, which for you means that you pout a lot and huff. You hardly complain, which is nice, and you’re really snuggly when you don’t have an ice pack or a heating pad on your ankle.”

 

She pouted at him as she sat upright so that he could slide in behind her. “I hate being sick,” she complained. “Of any kind. I feel so _slow_.”

 

“Fine, okay, let me provide you with some entertainment. Sit up.”

 

“But I just sat back.”

 

“We’ll do gifts, will that work?”

 

She pursed her lips. “Maybe. But I still just sat back.”

 

“It’s good for your abs.”

 

“…You make a compelling argument.” She hauled herself upright. “Um—mine is the box in my bag with the panty liners.”

 

“You deliberately put it there so that I wouldn’t find it,” he grumbled.

 

“Yes,” she said. “And your gift is where you’re keeping the jockstrap, right?”

 

He flashed a smirk at her. “Like I _wear_ jockstraps.”

 

“That’s not a no.”

 

“I’ll go get it,” he said. “Hold tight!”

 

“Where am I gonna go?” she called after him. He didn’t bother to answer as he took the stairs two at a time, and he slid to a stop inside their room. He found the black velvet box in her bag—it was exactly where she said it would be—and then he found his. He flipped open the lid, just to be sure it was still there, and once he was reassured, he tucked it into his pocket and went back downstairs.

 

Windblade tucked her blanket around her legs as he came over. “See, I’m here. It’s not like I can go anywhere.”

 

He sat down at her feet and shoved the box toward her. “Open this first.”

 

“Why can’t you open mine first?” she complained.

 

“Fine, I will.”

 

She set herself up against the back of the couch, and Starscream started to unwrap the box. It was a velvet box, and he shook it experimentally. “Is this a ring?”

 

“No. Open it,” Windblade was starting to smile, and he opened the box to see…earrings? No, cufflinks.

 

“Cufflinks, huh?” He peered at them. “Saturn and…Mars?”

 

“I ordered them a few weeks ago, but they didn’t arrive until about a week and a half ago. I know you’re going into politics, but I thought you’d like to be reminded where your roots are.”

 

“In the stars?”

 

She reached out to run her fingers over his cheek. “Just so.”

 

Genuinely touched, he touched the Saturn cufflink. “You’re so sentimental.”

 

“You have your moments.”

 

“I’m about to. Okay, so, before you open that box, it’s not a proposal. I’m spoiling this because I don’t want to spend the next half hour soothing your ruffled feathers. I found it, thought of you, and wanted you to have it. It is _not_ a proposal.”

 

She raised her eyebrows as she opened the box. Her mouth opened as she looked down at the ring, and she looked up at him. “Starscream—this is too much.”

 

“It’s not, I picked it up for a song,” he said quickly. He wasn’t lying. “It’s in your colors. Just take it. I’m not taking it back. It’s sized for your middle finger so that way no one will get confused.”

 

She smiled tremulously. “You’re sure?”

 

“I’m sure.”

 

She lifted the ring from its protective velvet, and he appreciated the design all over again. The band was simple gold, but the top part of the ring was an intertwined double band with small rubies and diamonds set into it. It was elegant and streamlined, and the narrow band made Windblade’s fingers look longer. She held up her hand to admire it, and her shy smile turned into a beam. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”

 

“I thought you should have it.”

 

She fiddled with the band, and then she said, “Don’t run for office this term.”

 

He blinked. “What?”

 

“I may, um, have done some research into your hometown’s city council.”

 

“Aw, you care.”

 

“Shut up,” she laughed. “Anyway, they meet four days a week for three hours at a time. That’s why it’s only a two-year term, right? And then each councilmember has a specific part of the town development they run or at least keep an eye on, so it’s not even just the city council meetings. You can’t do that plus law school, and you’re getting into law school. Maybe you can manage it by your third year, but definitely not your first.”

 

He considered it. “I might be able to make it work.”

 

“You might die of exhaustion, too.”

 

He lifted her hand and tilted it so that the diamonds sparkled in the light. It really did suit her. “You make a good point.”

 

“I’m not saying not to run, but don’t do it right now.” She tugged on their hands so that she could press a kiss to his knuckles. “You can volunteer with the city council, get a little more known so the prodigal son returns thing has greater weight behind it when you do run. Prove to your people that you care about them. _That’s_ how you’ll get elected.”

 

“I’m hiring you as my political advisor,” he deadpanned.

 

“Keep giving me pretty jewelry and you have a deal,” she advised.

 

“Deal.”

 

—

 

_30 Minutes Down_

 

“I can’t believe we’re about to start a new year,” she mused as she curled up against him. “In a very similar position to last year, even.”

 

“Well, I prefer this,” he kissed the back of her neck and slid his hand to cup her breast. “How’s your ankle?”

 

“It’s been two days, but it’s propped on a pillow, and I have a feeling you have an ulterior motive.” She pressed her lower body against his and was rewarded by his hips jerking slightly.

 

“Who, me?”

 

“Don’t make me grab your dick.”

 

“You could. That’s an invitation.”

 

“Well, with such an open invitation,” she reached behind her for his cock and she squeezed it. “You think you could have sex with me without jarring my ankle too much?”

 

“I have some ideas.” He inched her panties down her legs carefully. “Might be a little awkward.”

 

“Sex is always a little awkward,” she told him. “Bits are going places, dicks fall out, there are weird noises…honestly, it’s par for the course.”

 

“Thanks,” he snorted. “Foreplay it is, then.”

 

She pulled on his cock gently as he kissed her earlobe and drew it into his mouth. His hand tweaked her nipple and pulled on it, and she moaned. He continued to play with her breast as she scraped her nails down the outside of his thigh. He growled against the back of her neck, and she dug her nails into his skin. “You like a little bit of pain,” she chuckled.

 

Then he twisted her nipple and tugged, and her laughter turned into a gasp. He tugged just a little further, guessing at what her pain-pleasure limits were, but when she whimpered he released her. “Too much?”

 

She let go of his dick to grab his wrist. “Not _nearly_ enough.”

 

He bent down to kiss the nape of her neck again. “Yes ma’am.”

 

She found his dick again and tugged on it. He bit her neck in an effort to control himself, and her chest reverberated with her groan. “Stop—playing.”

 

“Thought you wanted the foreplay.” He licked the shell of her ear and blew on it.

 

“Difference between—foreplay and—playing.”

 

“Is there?”

 

She flicked her thumb against the head of his cock a little harder than necessary, and he rocked into her grip. “Okay,” he admitted. “Difference.”

 

“Can we do something now?”

 

“Hold up.” He reached behind him for the drawer, and he searched inside it until he found the lube. “We’re gonna want this.”

 

She glanced over her shoulder, and then she nodded. “Good point. Okay.” She flinched slightly when he glanced his fingers across her opening, and then she managed to relax.

 

“Easy, easy,” he pressed light kisses to her neck. “This isn’t going to hurt.”

 

“I know. Okay, I think I’m good.”

 

“You’re so good,” he concurred. His fingers dipped inside, and when he brushed her clit with his thumb she surged into the touch. “I love it when you’re a puddle of…goo.”

 

“I appreciate the word swap,” she said as she bit back a whimper. “Are we good?”

 

“I think so. Gonna need my dick.”

 

She retracted her hand, and he raised her thigh so that he could slide a leg between hers. He lined up his cock and pushed forward, and she wrapped a hand in the covers. The angle was a little odd—it was deeper than usual, but she enjoyed the pressure and then…

 

It just wasn’t enough. He was rocking in short movements, and while he was panting, she was getting stimulation but it was nowhere near enough. She dropped her hand from the covers to her clit, and she brushed it slightly. Once she acclimated, she started to rub it carefully. She hated overstimulation.

 

“How’s this working for you?” he asked as he tweaked her nipple again.

 

“It’s fine,” she admitted, “but I need a little more. I think if you gave me that, it would hurt my ankle.”

 

“We’ll try again after you heal up.”

 

“Good plan.” She upped her speed and pressed her face to the pillow. She could finally— _finally_ —feel orgasm approaching, even though it was still a ways off. “Sprained ankles are awful.”

 

“No argument here.” He pulled her more tightly against him, and she cried out as the angle changed. She rubbed the pad of her thumb against her clit more furiously as they moved together, and her ankle was sending off warning trembles of pain, but she ignored them. It was as braced as it could be between the bandage and the pillow, and she wanted to come.

 

“You close?” he gasped in her ear.

 

“Getting there.” Her hand moved faster, and she clenched down on his next movement. He made a choked noise and continued to move, and she said, “It’s okay if you come first this time. I know it’s been like…four days since your last orgasm.”

 

“Two,” he admitted. “I jerked off in the shower the other morning.”

 

“I did it in the bathtub yesterday morning.”

 

“Naughty girl,” he bit her earlobe.

 

“It’s a nice bathtub,” she protested. “Lots of room.”

 

“I know. We had sex in there.” He groaned quietly. “Gonna come.”

 

“Come, dear heart. I’m close.”

 

They had all but abandoned condoms since he forgot that first time, and she felt him come. The sudden, sticky warmth threw her off for two heartbeats, and then she reapplied her concentration. Finally her orgasm began to crest, and she buried her face in the pillow to muffle her sounds. She stopped moving and removed her hand, and he tucked his chin into the curve of her shoulder.

 

“We’ve done better.”

 

“We both came, which is all I can ask for.”

 

“Well, given that it is now,” he checked the time, “12:02 AM, I wish we had rung in the New Year with better sex than that.”

 

“You can make it up to me next year,” she said sleepily.

 

She felt him catch his breath. “You see us…doing this in a year?”

 

“Of course.” She lifted her hand so that he could see the ring. “You gave me a ring.”

 

“So that means I got you or something?”

 

She wiggled so that she was lying on her back, and he laid his head down on her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, and he sighed. “I think…it means that you wanted a visible sign of committment, and that I was ready for it. So…yeah. I see us doing this in a year. Let’s skip the sprained ankle, though.”

 

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, definitely.” He pushed himself up onto one hand to hover over her, and she curved her hand around his cheek. “Are you happy?”

 

She considered the question. His eyes were intent, and she wanted to treat the unexpected seriousness from him with the respect it deserved. “As happy as I can be,” she said. “This was a good idea, this winter retreat. I’m in love with this house.”

 

He took a deep breath and kissed her palm. “I’m in love with _you_.”

 

Her heart turned over, and she ducked her eyes as her cheeks flared. “I love you too,” she said in a rush. “I mean, I’m _in_ love with you too. I realized it a while ago, but I wasn’t ready to tell you.”

 

“When?”

 

“I…may have overheard your apology to Percy.”

 

He groaned comically. “I didn’t want you to!”

 

“Then you should have closed the door,” she said severely. “And you?”

 

“It wasn’t one ‘shit I’m in love with her’ moment. I looked at you one day—might’ve been over Thanksgiving, now that I think about it—and just realized how much I love you. I’m not used to feeling that way about another person.”

 

“Textbook narcissist,” she teased.

 

He rolled his eyes at her. “We’re having a moment.”

 

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” She reached up to kiss the side of his mouth. “We’re fools, you and me.”

 

“How so?”

 

“We could have skipped a lot of stuff if we had just been honest in the first place.”

 

“But I like stuff.” He kissed her forehead. “And you needed to come to some conclusions on your own.”

 

“And you needed to figure out how not to be such a huge asshole. I’d vote for you now.”

 

“Oh good, because I’m expecting it.”

 

She laughed, and he started to laugh with her. “Happy New Year, Starscream.”

 

“Happy New Year, my dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Megatron freaks out, Nautica is a little tipsy, and Percy and Windblade share some tea.
> 
> Please feed the author. How else will I know if people are laughing at my jokes?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments last chapter!! They really made my weekend, thank you so much.
> 
> So this is the end. While I have some one-shots planned--and _maybe_ some shorter stories--I finally started writing some original work, and I'm getting ready to graduate and then _working_ so we'll see how this goes.
> 
> The dates are provided in the epilogue.

**EPILOGUE: I CAN HEAR THE BELLS**

 

_January 8_ _ th _

 

Optimus held the door open so that Windblade could swing into the room. Her crutches looked painful, and it was almost sweet that Starscream was hovering next to her. “Sorry,” Windblade said after she’d levered herself into a seat. “It’s been a while since I sprained my ankle last.”

 

“Don’t apologize,” Optimus fussed. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

 

“No,” Starscream cut across. “It’ll interfere with her pain medications.”

 

“Thanks, dear,” Windblade said dryly. “I’ll take some tea if you have it.”

 

“We _always_ have it,” Megatron snorted. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Starscream sat down next to Windblade, and despite the fact that they were seated, he was still hovering. Optimus observed them. They looked more comfortable than they had before they left, and that was good. They must have had exceptionally good sex.

 

And that was the last he was going to think about it.

 

“Dinner will be up soon,” Optimus assured them. “We’re just waiting for the roast to come out of the oven.”

 

“No worries,” Windblade said as she tucked her crutches against the wall.

 

“How long have you two been back?”

 

“We got back yesterday afternoon, but we slept most the afternoon and this morning,” Windblade said as she reached out to intertwine her fingers with Starscream. He, interestingly enough, let her. “It was a long drive.”

 

“A lot of snow?”

 

“A lot.” Starscream made a face. “It got better once we hit the highway.”

 

“Here you go,” Megatron put a glass of tea down. “How did you sprain your ankle?”

 

“A rude person startled me while skiing and I fell over,” she said.

 

“That happens.” Megatron sat down. “There are some really nasty injuries you can get skiing. Starscream sprained his knee once.”

 

“ _Please_ don’t remind me.”

 

“There’s the roast, excuse me.” Optimus went into the kitchen. The mashed potatoes were ready, as were the roasted vegetables, but the roast chicken would need to be carved. It had been sitting out so that it would remain tender when he carved it, but it needed the extra bump of time it would take to put food on the table.

 

The chicken was carved to his specifications and he brought it to the table. Windblade was sitting a little gingerly—she usually braced her feet against the floor but that would be painful—and Starscream was looking at Megatron, but his body language was angled toward Windblade.

 

Optimus sat down. “So besides the sprained ankle and the blizzard, did anything of note take place?”

 

Windblade and Starscream glanced at each other. “No, not really,” Windblade said, offering her plate for Starscream to spear some chicken onto. “Apart from Starscream nearly dying from lack of internet access.”

 

“I did _not_.”

 

“The moment you could check Twitter again, you didn’t surface for hours. It was concerning.”

 

“Just because _you_ don’t have much of an Internet presence doesn’t mean the rest of us are ascetic.”

 

“Oh, ascetic, that’s an interesting way to put it.” Windblade stuck her tongue out at him as she spooned mashed potatoes onto his plate. “But yes, he nearly died.” She passed the potatoes to Megatron and picked up her glass. “I had books to read, so I wasn’t so badly off.”

 

Megatron nearly dropped the plate, and they all looked at him with concern. “M-my apologies, the plate was hot.” He laid it down on the table and fixed his eyes on Windblade’s left hand. “Is that ring new?”

 

Windblade looked at her hand and then back up with a shy smile. Optimus knew that smile. “Starscream gave it to me.”

 

“May I?”

 

Starscream, to Optimus’ interest, had tensed slightly but didn’t otherwise react. Windblade rested her hand in Megatron’s, and he examind the ring. “This is lovely,” Megatron mused. “It suits you perfectly, where did it come from?”

 

There was a subtext that Optimus was missing, and he and Windblade exchanged confused looks. Starscream shrugged. “Found it and thought of her.”

 

“I see.”

 

Windblade tilted her head. “Is there a problem?”

 

Megatron released her. To Optimus’ experienced eye, his smile became a little fixed, but it made Windblade relax. “No, not at all. I was just admiring the style, it’s a little more vintage than some designs you see now.”

 

“I like a little bit of history,” she said. “It ties you to a specific time and place.”

 

“I have a friend who collects presidential campaign buttons from the 1800s. It’s been a lifelong passion of his, and he just lights up when he finds a new one. He has no particular party affiliation, but he’s spent all of his academic career studying the Gilded Age, and no one can discuss President Grant more happily or at length,” Optimus glanced at Megatron. “Of course, if you go beyond Teddy Roosevelt, he’s utterly lost.”

 

“I know this friend,” Megatron rolled his eyes. “I like to ask him questions from before and after his chosen time period just to watch him get all flustered. He likes to pontificate.”

 

“Is this Sentinel?” Starscream inquired.

 

“Yes, it’s Sentinel.”

 

“I’ve met him,” Starscream said with a sigh. “You’ll probably meet him at some point too. His career is very similar to Megatron’s, here, where he was a senator and then went into academia, but unlike Megatron, his retirement wasn’t a choice. He refused to change his politics to suit changing moral values, and he was voted out. He went into academia because he didn’t know what else to do.”

 

Optimus met Megatron’s eyes. _‘You’ll probably meet him too?’_ They were getting serious. “He can be an ass,” Optimus said tactfully, “but he’s a strong academic.”

 

“Never has no one been more suited for the ivory tower,” Megatron toasted him.

 

“I do believe in damning with faint praise,” Windblade said.

 

“You were raised in the Deep South. Of course you believe in damning with faint praise.”

 

Windblade raised her eyebrows at Starscream. “You want to run _in_ the South. You’re going to have to become a bit more subtle, dear heart.”

 

“Oh! That reminds me.” Starscream stabbed some chicken. “Megatron, Windblade and me talked it over and I don’t think I should run for City Council this election cycle.”

 

Megatron paused in the middle of drinking his wine. “…Why?”

 

“Windblade reminded me that the first two years of law school are grueling and that I’ll probably half-kill myself trying to do both. Besides, I can take those two years to volunteer around the town and get myself a little better known, so that way people will expect me to run instead of being surprised.”

 

Megatron’s gaze was assessing on Windblade, instead of Starscream. Oh-ho, Megatron had a rival for Starscream’s ear and he didn’t like it. “I did tell you you don’t need to go to law school.”

 

“But it’ll help me in the long run, so I’ll take it.” Starscream shrugged, as though he wasn’t upsetting all of Megatron’s plans that had been in place for years. Windblade didn’t look satisfied, the way Megatron probably expected her to, so Optimus assumed it had come from a genuinely concerned place instead of an ambitious one.

 

“I understand your concern,” Megatron said slowly. “Do you mind if we talk about it later?”

 

“Yeah, sure, but I’m probably not going to change my mind.” Starscream chased the last bit of roasted carrot on his plate. “So are you ready for the start of the spring semester?”

 

“I am,” Optimus cut in. “I don’t like having 5 weeks between the fall and spring semester. It’s hard to plan around that when it’s not the usual time for break.”

 

“ _I_ enjoyed it.” Megatron waggled his eyebrows at Optimus, who cleared his throat.

 

Windblade looked a little embarrassed. “I—okay. It’s a little weird that I’ll be applying for jobs in a few months. I need to step up my studying for the state exam.”

 

“We’ll work on that. Between that and your thesis, I have you covered.” Optimus took the last serving of mashed potatoes. “Don’t worry.”

 

“We’re presenting at the Ted Astrophysics conference at the end of this month, Skyfire and me,” Starscream swirled his wine. “I expect that he’ll have a very lucrative contract with NASA or someone similar.”

 

“Have you considered basing at least some of your political values in the importance of space exploration and science in education?” Megatron inquired.

 

Starscream smirked. “Crossed my mind, yeah. Education’s definitely going to be part of my platform. I haven’t figured out the rest yet.”

 

“Well, you’re not obligated.” Megatron started to clear the table. “Are you two staying for dessert?”

 

Windblade and Starscream glanced at each other. “I don’t think so,” Windblade admitted. “I still have some laundry to finish before class starts tomorrow morning, and Starscream needs to meet up with Thundercracker and Skywarp.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“But we’re happy to do dishes,” Windblade added.

 

“We are?” Starscream flinched, and Optimus guessed Windblade had kicked him. “I mean, I guess.”

 

“No, you two go on,” Megatron gestured at the two of them. “You had a long drive yesterday.”

 

Starscream got up and brought Windblade’s crutches over to her. “Dinner was good, Optimus,” he said, and it wasn’t even grudgingly.

 

“Was that a thank you?”

 

“Yes, that’s what he means.” Windblade winced as she stood up. “It really was good, thank you both.”

 

“Have a good night, you two.”

 

“Same to you.”

 

Optimus finished clearing the table as they left, and once the door was closed he turned to Megatron. “What was the issue with that ring?”

 

“It belonged to his mother,” Megatron sighed. “Well, family heirloom at least. I never saw her wear it, I believe it was because it was too ‘old-fashioned’. That might have been the appeal; if his mother didn’t value it, she would turn over in her grave to see him give it to an Asian-American girl.”

 

“Which is probably the point.”

 

“Which is exactly the point.” Megatron gnawed on his bottom lip. “She’s superseding me.”

 

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Optimus was, as always, cautious. “I believe she raised a very real point, one you would have realized once his law school acceptance came through. Look at it this way—you will advocate for him to blaze forward, and she will advocate caution. Between the two of you, he should be well-balanced. Besides,” Optimus eyed him, “he shouldn’t listen to just _one_ political advisor. That leads to things like the presidency of George W. Bush.”

 

“You’ve never forgiven the American electorate for that, have you?”

 

“The fact that the Supreme Court—,” he cut himself off. “That’s not the point. You both will call him out on things, and he still listens to the both of you. That’s not wrong. I think you’re getting fussed over nothing.”

 

“She’s never going to be out of his life now,” Megatron was gloomy as he put dishes away. “I’m going to need to get her on my side.”

 

“I’m sure that will be very difficult for you,” Optimus said reprovingly. “Hush and finish up.”

 

Megatron made a face at him, but hushed up accordingly.

 

—

 

_January 12_ _ th _

 

Starscream flagged down the bartender for another round. Once the bartender nodded, he turned back to Nautica. “So let me see that ring.”

 

She shook her head. “Pictures of Windy first.”

 

“Fine.” He unearthed his phone from his pocket and pulled up the picture, and Nautica beamed when she saw it.

 

“She’s so sporty! I love it. Please message that to me?”

 

“Yeah, totally. The ring?”

 

Nautica brandished it happily. “I love the setting. It’s so…me.”

 

“She picked a good one,” Starscream allowed as he examined it. “Small enough that it doesn’t get in your way, but large enough to sparkle. And it’s purple, of course.”

 

“Of course. I saw the ring you gave Windy. How did you give her such a pretty ring and _not_ propose?”

 

“You have wedding fever. You want the whole world paired up and happy because _you’re_ paired up and happy,” he informed her. The bartender brought their cranberry vodka tonics, and they clinked their classes together. “Congratulations.”

 

“Well, yes, okay,” Nautica admitted easily once she sipped from her glass. “But the question remains.”

 

“We only said ‘I love you’ for the first time literally two weeks ago. You think we’re ready for marriage?”

 

“Oh my god, _finally_.” Nautica bounced in her chair and she drank a little more of her cranberry tonic. “And I don’t know! That’s a question for you to answer. Would you do it? At some point?”

 

“I think it’s too soon,” Starscream sighed. “ _Far_ too soon for the both of us. I’m not the marrying kind.”

 

Nautica snorted. “Bullshit. You got her a _ring_. Even with your everything, you have to know the context behind rings of any kind. You want her in the forever way.”

 

“I…maybe. But in any case, we’re not ready for that. _She’s_ not ready for that. I think that when we know, we’ll know.”

 

“You’re a lot more proactive than her on that count,” Nautica shook her head. “You’ll know long before she does. Just…give her some grace when you get there, okay? She can be frustrating and stubborn, and I know you can be impatient, but please just give her some grace.”

 

“You’re talking like you’re not gonna be in her life and you need to know that I can take of her. Is there something I should know about?”

 

“We’re moving into separate spheres soon, like, within six months. We’ll still talk and get together, but we won’t be living together. I’m guessing—and my guesses are pretty good—that she’s going to end up with you. So yes, there are some things you need to know that will prevent some fights from happening.” She drained her cranberry tonic. “Her mother sets her skin on edge, but she still wants to give that woman a chance. It’s frustrating and annoying because she would not give literally anyone else that amount of leeway, but just…deal with it. Give her excuses for holidays.”

 

“She told me what happened,” Starscream told her. “I get it.”

 

“Not until you go to Caminus, you don’t,” Nautica said grimly. “You weren’t raised in a religious community and you certainly weren’t raised as the daughter of the leader of that religious community. Her emotions are all screwed up. She’s made a shit ton of progress away from her mother here, but you take her back to Caminus and she will regress in nothing flat. And you _should_ go to Caminus. If only to…get it. Plus, okay, the Chapel of Solus is an architectural marvel.”

 

“We can talk more about Windblade another time. Tell me more about that proposal.”

 

“Well, we were in bed because it was a snow day, and Chromia just starts off with that she wanted it to be special, but what makes it special is _us_ and how important we are to each other, and then she asked me to marry her. I just about died of excitement. We haven’t planned anything yet, but I am just so excited to be engaged to her. I love her.”

 

“I know you do.” He nudged her. “Finish up and then I’ll take you home.”

 

“Are we walking? I don’t think you’re able to drive.”

 

“I have every intention of laying my head to rest on my lover’s pillows,” he said.

 

She made a face. “That was bad and you should feel bad. I’ll leave the tip.”

 

He took out his wallet. “Then I’ve got the tab.”

 

—

 

_January 14_ _ th _

 

Windblade brought the steaming pot of tea over to the table. “Do you want some cream, you Brit you?”

 

“I fail to understand how you can drink tea without milk,” Percy complained.

 

“Try living someplace where tea is boiled with sugar until it’s tea-flavored sugar syrup,” she advised. “I don’t put sugar in my tea anymore. Maybe honey, but nothing more than that.”

 

“You Americans are so _strange_.”

 

“Hello, mirror,” she teased. “So how was your break?”

 

“Quiet. I, um, made an account on Tindr.”

 

“Ooh! And?”

 

“I’ve gone on two days,” he said awkwardly. “Two separate people. One—he was very talented with his tongue, and the other was good with his hands, but they were not people to see again.”

 

“Twinkies. They were Twinkies.”

 

“I’m assuming you mean the deplorable snack and not the slang for feminine gay men.”

 

“Hey, Twinkies are _not_ deplorable. At least…okay, they kind of are. No, you eat Twinkies between meals because you’re a little hungry but not enough to make up a full meal. It’s okay to have Twinkies every once in a while…as long as they’re not the only thing you’re eating.” She stirred her tea. “You were badly hurt. You’ll find someone if that’s what you want.”

 

“You seem so certain.”

 

“Percy, you’re _so good_. You’re kind and thoughtful, and a lot more forgiving than you should be, and you’re so smart that I’m in awe of you most of the time. Trust me. You’ll find someone who appreciates your whole package instead of just your…package. Which I’m sure is spectacular.”

 

“That’s enough,” he said, but his cheeks were burning. “I would prefer you not speculate as to my…”

 

“Well, most guys I know walk a little taller when their stuff is complimented. I wasn’t sure you were that kind of guy, but now I know you’re not and I won’t do it again.” She squeezed his wrist.

 

“I believe it’s more that you’re an excellent woman friend of mine that I am not attracted to in the least,” he corrected, ever the soul of tact. “It’s just…awkward, coming from you.”

 

She grinned. “Well then. Did you hear Nautica and Chromia were engaged?”

 

“I believe Nautica’s squeal of joy could be heard from space.” His face softened. “I’m happy for the two of them. I’m sure their wedding will be delightful.”

 

“You’re talking like you won’t be invited.”

 

He tilted his head. “I…won’t be?”

 

Windblade refilled her tea. “Oh please. Even if they didn’t invite you—which they _would_ —I’d fight for you. You have the right to get stupid drunk with us and dance until it feels like your feet are gonna fall off.” She shrugged. “Knowing them both, it won’t be a hugely formal affair, which is good.”

 

“Good? Are you or are you not a Southern-raised woman, where weddings are the pinnacle of social gatherings?”

 

She grimaced. “I hate weddings. I’ll be in Nautica and Chromia’s, but theirs won’t be what I hate anyway. But the tulle, the lace, the big poofy skirts and the bad wine and the overeager relatives…that one I can skip. Weddings are _awful_. Especially since, what, two-thirds of marriages end in divorce these days?”

 

“Why Windblade, I didn’t know you were such a cynic,” Percy shook his head as he stirred in more cream to his tea.

 

“Not a cynic,” she said, “I just hate fuss, and weddings are the epitome of fuss.”

 

“Well, that one I cannot argue with you over.” He brushed his elbow with hers. “You’ve gone above and beyond to keep an eye on me. I have noticed that.”

 

“Wasn’t like I was hiding it. Besides, you’re pretty cool, even if you lose me on some of the star stuff. I _think_ I’m getting better between you and Starscream, but by your third sentence I’m really confused.”

 

“I get just as confused when you ramble about sentence structure and the changing of verbs and nouns post-colonial expansion in Southeast Asia,” he said graciously. “In any case…I am grateful. I have been more socialized in the past three or four months than my entire college career. Thank you.”

 

She reached over to kiss his cheek. “It’s nothing.”

 

“It is _not_.”

 

She waved that off. “If you thought you got socialization in the last four months, get ready for _this_ semester. I know that you and I have fewer classes because we’re graduating, and I plan on filling up that time.”

 

“How so?” he inquired.

 

She grinned. “How do you feel about skydiving?”

 

“Something better left to others.” He peered at her. “You’re happy.”

 

“Incandescently,” she agreed. “Me and Starscream—it was a good vacation, despite the injury.”

 

“The sex was good?” he asked delicately.

 

“Some of it. But every couple’s going to have disappointing sex at some point.” She shrugged. “For the first time in a very long time, I recognize that I’m happy. For now, that’s enough.”

 

“I hope it lasts,” he said.

 

“Me too.” She breathed in carefully. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this well-over-200k work, and if there are any particular oneshots you'd like to see, please comment and I will see what I can do.
> 
> Please feed the author!


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